


Wake Up

by closetfascination



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Eventual Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Serious Injuries, Suicidal Thoughts, alternate ending to S3 and S4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetfascination/pseuds/closetfascination
Summary: "Whatever it is, I will love you no matter what. You know that, right?"Alex scrunched his eyes, blinking away the tears. How could anyone love a murderer?"I... don't know if you will." His voice was hoarse from crying.An alternate ending to S3 and S4 starting just after S3E12.
Relationships: Jessica Davis & Alex Standall, Zach Dempsey & Alex Standall
Comments: 47
Kudos: 43





	1. Confession

**Author's Note:**

> TW: This chapter deals with suicide ideation.

Alex finished tidying his room again and sat at his desk, staring at a blank piece of paper. 

It was a ritual he started the night after the ride along with his father. When the cops retrieved the large bag containing many vials of steroids from Bryce's car, he began to lose confidence that he was in the clear. He struggled with sleep before, but this was different. There was a constant heaviness in his gut that never left now, as the guilt manifested itself physically while he outwardly remained calm.

At least most of the time.

Except for when Clay and Ani confronted him about the steroids Justin had fished out of the garbage. 

Or when he found out Jessica told Ani that she was with Justin the night of Bryce's death.

Another figurative punch to his gut, given Alex had been there for her that night when Justin was nowhere to be found and maybe if Justin had been, just maybe, he wouldn't be in this mess. Just thinking about it was enough to cause the rage he unleashed at Jessica that day in the library to bubble up again, like bitter-tasting bile.

At first, he managed to tell himself everything would be fine. That is what he told Jessica that fateful night. He couldn't unsee the horrified look on her face, right after he pushed Bryce off the pier or after he told her he loved her. At this point, he knew he shouldn't love her anymore. She might as well have ripped his heart out that night when she told him he couldn't say he loved her anymore. But somehow, despite all of these things, he still did. He felt like even though he didn't want to be with her anymore, he would always love her. 

As these thoughts ran through his head, almost involuntarily, tears started to fall on the piece of paper.

Alex wondered if anyone else could see the cracks? Did anyone notice the slightly panicked look that he and Jessica exchanged when Clay was arrested? They both managed to keep it under control, but for a brief moment, if someone was paying attention... 

It was tempting to just let things play out. Alex figured that the police didn't really have anything concrete on Clay. His father was surprisingly tight-lipped, so he couldn't be sure. But something about that didn't sit right with him. It was no different from the situation with the tapes, where everyone else was willing to lie and protect a rapist to save their reputations. Only this time the stakes were higher. Much higher. And this time the lie would be to protect him. 

A murderer. 

A wave of nausea washed over him, tears still very slowly rolling down his warm cheeks.

It wasn't the first time he sat staring at a blank page. But it was the first time he was actually going to write something on it. 

He picked up his pen. It was a normal pen, but it felt heavy as if it were burdened with Alex's guilt. His grip on the pen was unnaturally tight, and he scratched the tip across the page, forming the words he dared not say out loud. 

_I killed Bryce Walker._

Somehow, writing it down made it more real. Of all the stupid, impulsive things Alex had done, it was the one mistake he couldn't make better by merely apologising. He never meant to kill Bryce. Sometimes, when Alex replayed that night in his head, he wasn't entirely sure how he went from helping Bryce up to pushing him off the pier. He remembered the blind rage that came over him when Bryce said he would ruin Zach's life, which intensified when he accused Jessica of setting him up. Alex recalled not seeing any good in Bryce, and that something inside him snapped, and then he saw red, and before he knew it, he was watching, immobilised by the shock of what he did, as Bryce screamed for help as he drowned. 

Sometimes, when Alex did manage to sleep well enough to dream, those screams haunted him. 

Wiping the tears from the paper, being careful not to smear the ink, Alex drew the pen across the white surface once more. 

_I don't deserve to be alive._

Two simple truths etched in dark blue ink from a ballpoint pen. And only one of those things, Alex could still do something about. 

Maybe. 

The doubt crept in on whether or not he could do something about the second one. Alex failed the first time. Maybe he was just destined to suffer through living? He considered all the self-destructive actions he had taken over the past few months, even before killing Bryce, but especially after. Most recently, he tried to get Tyler to fight him. When he wouldn’t, he successfully convinced the guy at the gym to box him hoping that they would accidentally hit him in just the wrong way and he would die. He chuckled bitterly at the thought that, knowing his luck, another failed attempt would just result in his life being more difficult again rather than ending it. If only Alex could get his hands on a gun. There is no way he would mess up shooting himself twice, was there?

He brought the pen to the paper one last time. 

_I'm sorry, more than I could ever say._

Even writing those words did nothing to lift the heaviness in his chest or soothe the churning of his gut. The air felt stale, and it was hard to breathe. Alex swallowed the sob lodged in his throat and used the back of his hand to wipe the tears from his face. He sat frozen, staring for a few moments, deciding that this would be the last night he would struggle to sleep or be weighed down by the guilt of his actions.

The note was simple, but it would do. 

His phone vibrated. 

Alex didn't know if he wanted to see who was contacting him. 

He didn't want to see anyone anymore. 

But his subconscious mind resisted this thought and slid his hand across the smooth surface of his desk and turned the phone over to reveal the messenger’s identity. 

Zach, his best friend. 

Zach, who thought he had killed Bryce when he beat him up. And instead of summoning up the courage to tell him the truth, like the coward Alex was, the coward he always was, he tried to convince Zach to let things blow over. In retrospect, he was trying to reassure himself as much as he was trying to persuade Zach. The lie Alex told himself was that Bryce deserved to die, for all the things he did to all of them. But who was he to decide who gets to live or die? Except when it came to himself; he definitely didn't deserve to be alive. 

He focused his eyes on the message. 

**Zach (6:43 pm):** i confessed, but they say i didn't kill bryce, that he died of drowning

Alex could have told him this. He tried to, in his own vague way. Alex promised Zach that if he ever felt the way he did right now, that he would tell him. Why was it so hard? Maybe because he knew if he told Zach that Zach would stop him from executing the ugly plan inside his head. 

The only thing he felt he deserved. 

**Alex (6:46 pm)** : i told u not to worry

Alex composed and recomposed the next text. He was oscillating between reaching out and staying quiet. Another text came through as he contemplated what he was going to do.

 **Zach (6:47 pm)** : i just feel so relieved that it wasn't me. i was convinced he died because i left him there, i was so angry. i felt guilty later, but at the moment— i wanted him to suffer

Alex sighed. He was happy Zach wouldn't have to live with the burden of thinking he killed Bryce anymore. The fact that he could have saved him from the last two weeks of anguish over this just made Alex feel that much worse about what he did. And now Clay was in jail. That had to be terrifying. How many more people would suffer from the secret he kept?

 **Alex (7:10 pm)** : can we meet? there is something i need to tell u

 **Zach (7:11 pm)** : ofc, when?

 **Alex (7:11 pm)** : as soon as u can. pick me up?

 **Zach (7:12 pm)** : on my way

Alex grabbed the letter he wrote, folded it, and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. In case words failed him, he could just give Zach the note. It was as good a plan as any. 

He went to the washroom and splashed cold water on his face in an attempt to hide the fact that he had been crying. As the cool water washed the salty residue of tears from his face, out of his peripheral vision, he could see the tile that his parents needed to replace when the bullet he tried to kill himself with ricocheted, shattering it. 

_Too bad it hadn't worked the first time._

By the time he made it back to his bedroom, his phone had vibrated again. Zach was here. 

Neither of his parents were home. His mom was working an evening shift and, not surprisingly, his dad was still working, which was all he had been doing lately, with the murder investigation. Yet another thing that Alex felt responsible for. 

He paused to send a quick text to each of them to let them know where he was so they wouldn't worry. It felt oddly considerate and sort of out of place given where his mind was at. Why should he care about how worried his parents were given he wouldn't be around for much longer? He made sure the outside light was on before locking the house up and making his way to Zach's car. 

Zach seemed like he was in a much better place than he had been in the afternoon. 

"Hey," Zach said quietly, looking over at Alex as he took his place in the passenger seat.

"Hey."

"Where to?"

"Wherever... somewhere private?"

"Ok," Zach replied as he pulled away from the curb. Alex could see him periodically glance at him as they drove in silence, as if he could see the fractures that were starting to form in Alex's calm. 

They pulled up to the lookout over the bridge, the place teens in Evergreen often used as a make-out spot. Alex chuckled to himself that this was the first place that Zach thought of when he said private. 

"What's so funny?" Zach asked, noticing the break in Alex's morose demeanour. 

"It's stupid." Alex looked down and away from his friend, still smiling at the thought. He wasn't sure why it amused him so much, especially given nothing should be funny to him right now.

"No, you have to tell me."

"Ok, I just think it is funny that when I say bring me to a private spot, you bring me to Evergreen's number one make-out spot." 

"I did, didn't I? I wasn't really thinking of that..." Zach's voice trailed off.

"No, and I didn't think you were. See, it is stupid." But Alex couldn't help but smile, despite the grave reason he asked Zach to meet him. 

They sat quietly for a bit, Alex mulling over how he would tell Zach about everything. The lookout was beautiful at night, the city lights reflecting off the river water. 

"So why are we here?" Zach asked a bit more pointedly. 

Alex undid his seatbelt to have easier access to the piece of paper he shoved into his pocket. 

"I wrote this tonight," Alex said calmly; he was surprised at how even and emotionless his voice sounded compared to how he'd felt when he composed it. Just writing the note had relieved some tension, as if deciding to do something about how he felt eased his discomfort. He passed the still folded note over to Zach and observed as he carefully unfurled it. 

Alex watched as Zach's eyes moved across the page, his expression changing from curious to shocked and finally what seemed to be deep sadness.

"Oh, Alex..."

The air seemed heavy in the car, thick. Perhaps it was the combination of the heat running in the car without the air conditioning, so any humidity seemed amplified. Maybe it was the weight of the words on the page that hung unsaid in the air.

"I'm... sorry I couldn't tell you earlier today," Alex apologised, meeting Zach’s gaze. "I wanted to, but I couldn't." 

"You aren't still thinking about..." 

_Suicide?_ Alex's mind filled in the blank. 

"I mean, I was considering it pretty seriously. I don't deserve to fucking live." Alex paused, took a deep breath, "But I told you instead. I still might... but..."

"Still might?"

"I mean, it is always an option."

"But..."

Alex could tell Zach really didn't know what to say, what do you say when your best friend tells you they are thinking about ending their life?

"But... that's the thing. I don't deserve to live, but I don't think I want to die either. The more I think about it..."

"I...I don't want you to die either," Zach said, voice thick with emotion like he was trying not to cry and barely succeeding. "I'm glad you reached out."

A melancholy half-smile played on Alex's lips, neither happy nor sad, an unconscious reaction to his friend's words. It was getting stuffy in the car, so he cracked the passenger window to see if the fresh air made it easier to breathe. He summoned up the courage to speak again. 

"My life is over whether I live or die… I either die or rot in prison."

"Don't say that!" Zach interjected quickly, the heaviness of the air seeming to slow the words. Then again, more softly, he pleaded, "Don't... say that."

"Why not? It's true," Alex spat these words as if to keep them inside any longer burned. And then the tears came again, as if the dam had been irreparably broken earlier that day and everything he'd kept locked inside him for the past two weeks was seeping out. His voice came out small and somewhat hoarsely, "I...I didn't mean to... kill him."

Zach nodded solemnly and said nothing for a few moments, staring at the reflection of the lights off the river as the waves caused them to undulate gently. While the opened window helped, it was still stifling inside the car, and the windows were starting to fog up. With difficulty, he pushed his question through the oppressive atmosphere. The words, as if crushed, came out softly.

"What happened? Why were you even there?"

Alex let out a long breath and used the back of his hand to wipe the salty wetness from his face. Steadying himself, he recounted the events of that fateful night.

"Bryce wanted to meet Jessica at the Pier to give her something. She didn't want to go alone, and Justin wasn't answering his phone. So I agreed to go with her. I picked her up in my mom's car, and we met him at the Pier. He was in rough shape when we got there. He gave Jessica a tape that he said has some sort of confession on it and then... he was begging us to help him, and I just couldn't leave him there. I tried to help him up, but it must have hurt a lot because he started threatening you and saying Jessica had set him up. And then I just snapped... I just didn't see any good in him and realised he'd hurt everyone I ever loved. The rage just overtook everything at that point, and instead of walking him toward the car, I pushed him off the side of the pier, or I must have, the stuff between the flash of rage and watching him drown is kind of fuzzy. We just watched him drown, Zach. It was awful… I'm awful."

Zach grabbed his shoulder from the driver's side, firmly and yet with great care. 

"Listen to me." He squeezed his shoulder as he repeated, "Listen to me. Alex, you are not awful. God, you wanted to help him, which is more than I can say."

"But it doesn't matter what I intended, he's dead, and I can't bring him back."

Zach opened his mouth, but as if suffocated for a moment, nothing came out.

"Do you think they have any evidence that points to you?"

"I don't fucking know..." Alex blurted out at first and then more quietly, "The steroids, if they connect me to them, which wouldn't be that hard."

"You were using?" Zach looked surprised.

Alex looked away and admitted, "Yeah, since July. And I was buying from Bryce because he was the only person who would sell to me. I stopped after the locker raid. I threw my stuff in the garbage and Justin fished it out and gave it to Clay and Ani, who seemed to be playing at fucking detective. They figured it out, so it would only be a matter of time before the cops figured it out."

"Alex—"

"I don't need a lecture about steroid use right now. I wish I never touched them."

"No, I wasn't going to. I just, feel dumb, for not seeing how much you were hurting after you broke up with Jessica."

"Don't— I mean, I didn't want people to see."

"Anything else that could point to you?"

"Well, I don't have an alibi. Jessica told the cops she was at home and I told the cops I was out with Jessica, so already our stories don't match up. But other than that, every time I've asked about evidence, my dad very professionally refuses to answer my questions, so I don't know what else they have."

"What do you think we should do?"

"We?"

"I'm here to help you, that is what friends do."

"Well, I was at a loss, which is why I was looking at a permanent solution."

Zach nodded. 

"What if, and this goes against our normal MO of not involving adults, but what if we told your dad?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Zach shrugged, "I mean, it worked out ok for me."

"Yeah, because Bryce didn't die from what you did," Alex said, bitterly. 

"I'm not saying go confess- at least not on the record, but maybe your dad would have a better idea of what to do?" Zach offered optimistically.

Alex wasn't sure, but what did he have to lose at this point?

"I think he already thinks it is me."

"What makes you say that?" 

"Just the way he looks at me..."

"Is it possible that it is just your guilty conscience?"

Alex shrugged.

"OK, I think we should talk to your dad, tonight if possible, and see what he says. Do you think you can do that?"

He wasn't sure if he could. Alex knew how disappointed his father would be in him for everything. But maybe...

"Could you… come with me? 

"Of course."

"OK but he wasn't home yet, I guess we could go home and wait for him? I'll text him to see when he might be home."

 **Alex (8:03 pm)** : hey r u home yet? i need 2 talk 2 u

 **Dad (8:04 pm)** : on my way

***

By the time they made their way back to Alex's house, his dad was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping on a mug of chamomile tea. Alex was a bit surprised it wasn't a beer, but given how often his father was being called into work, it made sense that he'd abstain.

"Hey, buddy — Zach, " his dad said, smiling wearily at them. It looked like he had a long day, more like a long couple of weeks, and Alex felt responsible for that too. So many things he wished he had done differently. So many actions he couldn't take back. 

"Hey dad — can I talk to you?"

"Sure buddy, what about?"

Alex felt the nausea rise to his throat and threaten to strangle him. He wasn't sure if he could do this. How could his father love him knowing what he did? He sat down across from his father, hoping that being seated would help.

"I—" His voice faltered, tears welled up for the third time that day. 

Alex felt his father's hand reach across the table and grasped his, in an attempt to comfort him.

"What is it? You can tell me."

He didn't know if he could. This wasn't like the time he accidentally broke his dad's favourite mug or the time he'd borrowed the car and accidentally scratched the front end of the bumper when he misjudged the distance between a cement pillar and the vehicle. Fuck, he would trade simply admitting to using steroids to what he was preparing to confess. 

"Dad, I'm so sorry." His face was hot, and the tears streaming down his cheeks were almost itchy. 

His dad's voice was calm and gentle, almost soothing. 

"Whatever it is, I will love you no matter what. You know that, right?"

Alex scrunched his eyes, blinking away the tears. How could anyone love a murderer?

"I... don't know if you will." His voice was hoarse from crying.

Zach, who had been silent, stood behind him and rested his hand on his shoulder.

"You can do this, Alex."

Alex was sobbing now. 

"I...killed...Bryce...Walker," he managed to choke out between sobs.

His father just nodded and squeezed his hand as he attempted to reassure him. There was a long pause where only the sound of Alex's wet, ragged breaths could be heard. His dad's eyes met his own for a moment, and Alex could almost see his own defeat reflected back at him. 

His father released a long sigh, sending the scent of chamomile toward Alex and cast his eyes downward as if staring into the depths of his tea. He lifted his mug and took a long sip then put the cup down without making a sound. 

His next words confirmed Alex's worst fear.

"I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to write this story because I wasn't happy with how season three ended and feel that a lot of the problems with season four stemmed from the framing plot. I hope this alternate ending will stay truer to who the characters are. 
> 
> It is looking to be a fairly long story. Chapter 2 is from Bill Standall's perspective and Chapter 3 from Clay, Charlie, Jessica, Zach and Ani's perspectives. Various perspectives will be explored throughout with a focus on Alex in the middle of the story. 
> 
> Thanks to [de_la_cruz87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_la_cruz87/works) for the beta reading, the chats and helping me tease through the tangled mess that is season 3. 
> 
> This story is named after [Wake Up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sJRPPUr1yic) by Arcade Fire.
> 
> I would love to hear what you think!
> 
> Thanks for reading ❤


	2. A Parent's Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill Standall's POV following Alex's confession.

The scent of Bill Standall's chamomile tea hung heavy in the air, along with the last words he had said. _I know._

As he looked across the table at Alex, the sound of his son's wet sobs tugged at his heart. Like any parent, it distressed him to see his son in such pain.

He knew his son killed Bryce Walker. 

He hoped and prayed that it wasn't true, but hearing it said out loud killed any lingering doubt in his mind that it could be anyone other than Alex.

Bill hadn't wanted to see it, but the clues were so obvious, he was surprised that nobody else seemed to. On the other hand, perhaps they were being polite, not wanting to suggest that their colleague's son might be responsible. He no longer could recall which clues first caused him to start suspecting his own son. Was it the tire tracks belonging to his wife's car found at the scene of the crime? Was it the pattern of footprints that matched his own son's limp? Was it discovering the alcohol swabs in the drawer in Alex's room which suggested to him his own son was using steroids? The alcohol wipes hadn't been enough, but those plus the confirmation they weren't from the hospital, the fact that Alex had become more moody than usual over the past few months, the extra money he had been asking for and the sudden obsession with working out, all pointed to steroid use. Not to mention that Alex claimed he was with Jessica and Jessica said she was at home in bed which meant one of them was lying. 

He had become increasingly worried about Alex, especially since finding him boxing, with a death wish, knowingly putting himself in danger of getting another brain injury and never waking up again. Bill felt like he was close to losing his youngest son once more, and it scared him. Worse, he didn't know what to do about it. It was typical as a parent to not know what to do, to feel as though whatever he ended up choosing was probably the wrong choice, and then there was that niggling feeling at the back of his head, that he'd already messed up so bad with Alex.

That he had already failed as a parent. 

The look of anguished horror Alex gave him after he admitted he already knew caused his chest to tighten. Bill felt as though his heart was being crushed under the weight and seriousness of the confession. He could feel the edges of his eyes burn as tears threatened, but he managed to beat them back, at least for the moment, a skill honed through years of doing difficult police work. He felt like he needed to keep it together, to be steadfast and support his son. 

"W-what should I do, Dad?" Alex said, voice breaking, coming out small and scared. If he hadn't been looking at eighteen-year-old Alex as he said it, he would have sworn the voice belonged to a child. 

His child. 

What should Alex do? But perhaps almost equally important was figuring out what Bill could do? If working in law enforcement had taught him anything, it was that the world was never black and white, and the right things were not always legal. When he first noticed the clues pointing to Alex, he considered making those clues conveniently disappear. But that would be too noticeable, and then he would be charged with tampering with evidence. And this wasn't ignoring a minor breach in parole conditions when he could tell the person was really trying to stay out of trouble. This was murder or at the very least voluntary manslaughter. He couldn't imagine his son pre-meditating a murder; he didn't want to imagine that Alex, the more sensitive, quiet, introspective of his two sons, would be capable of cold-blooded murder. He rationalized to himself that, more than likely, it was a heat of the moment thing which anybody, given the right circumstances, was capable of. 

Bill slowly released the air in his lungs. It felt stale. He peered down into his now-empty teacup and shook his head.

"I don't know, buddy. But we'll figure it out — together." He squeezed Alex's hand again and looked him in the eye. He hoped he sounded reassuring even though he honestly had no idea what to do. He hoped his voice didn't betray the truth, that he felt both terrified and crushed that he had failed to protect his child from the world. Or maybe that was the problem? Perhaps he had done too good a job protecting Alex from trouble, and now there was finally something he couldn't shelter his son from?

Alex used his forearm to wipe dry his red face, bowed his head and closed his eyes, seeming exhausted by the release of emotion. Bill couldn't imagine the weight of keeping that secret from everyone, while police interrogated and arrested his friends. He looked up at Zach, who was still standing stoically behind his son with his hands resting gently on Alex's shoulders for support.

Bill spoke softly, "Zach, if you want, you can spend the night."

Zach looked down and made eye contact with Alex, who only seemed to muster up enough energy to shrug, but Bill could tell from the look Alex gave his friend, he wanted him to stay.

"Thanks, Mr Standall," Zach replied politely. "I think I will."

"You know where the guest bedroom is — make yourself at home."

Suddenly, Alex looked panicked again.

"But shouldn't we do something now? Clay's in jail, and it's all my fault and..."

"I know, buddy, but even if you walked into the station tonight and confessed, Clay wouldn't be released until the morning."

"Dad, I think I want to confess."

"I know, but we have to weigh our options."

"What options? I killed someone. Shouldn't I be punished?" Alex said his voice now edged in anger.

"It isn't that simple," Bill said, shaking his head.

This was something him and Alex had often clashed over. He was proud his son had such integrity and such a clear sense of right and wrong. But sometimes it was a little black and white and something Bill had learned years of working in law enforcement that, even though the law said one thing, enforcing the law wasn't always the best choice one-hundred percent of the time. And he didn't have a clear answer to his son's question. Alex seemed remorseful, but he still ended someone's life.

Bill could tell Alex was becoming increasingly agitated, the set of his jaw, the way his lips pressed into a thin line. 

"This isn't something you can fucking sweep under the rug, Dad!" Alex yelled, moving to stand up. 

"I know, I know... what I mean is, we need to get you a lawyer. There is no way you are giving a statement without a lawyer present."

"Oh, but it was OK for Zach to? For Clay? For Tony? For Justin?" 

Bill would be lying if he had said that he and Diaz hadn't specifically strategized interviewing as many of the teens connected to the Walker case without a lawyer or parent present. Zach had given a statement without a lawyer present, but even Bill knew that wasn't a good idea. He knew, because while he informed people of their rights, it was always preferable for them to get people to talk without representation as they could often get way more information out of people. Of course, it usually worked out worse for the person giving the statement because they would usually say something in a way that unintentionally incriminated them. He tried not to think about the times it worked against an innocent person. He figured that the number of criminals it had helped get off the street to make Evergreen a safer place outweighed the few innocents disadvantaged by not fully exercising their rights to representation. For the greater good, right? At least that's what he told himself so he could sleep at night.

"Zach did what he thought was best. Listen, buddy — it's late, why don't we sleep on this and talk about this in the morning?"

Alex rolled his eyes and sighed, "Yeah, whatever." When Alex tried to walk past, he stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey... hey, we'll figure this out."

Alex's expressions were mercurial this evening, and when his son's eyes met his, they shifted from steely to terrified.

"OK, Dad."

"I love you so much, son," he said, this time unable to stop his eyes from misting up a bit.

"I — I love you too, Dad."

Bill watched Alex and Zach make their way upstairs to bed. He put the kettle back on, and once the water was boiled, he made another cup of chamomile tea, as if a cup of steeped flowers would be enough to calm his nerves. Bill scoffed to himself at how ridiculous it was, but sipped it anyhow. Even after he finished his tea, he sat, frozen at the kitchen table, staring into the bottom of his cup.

_What was he going to do?_

He would see about a lawyer in the morning and figure out how to tell Diaz that he needed the case. He felt nauseous, like there was no way out of this. 

Maybe that's because there was no way out of this.

***

Bill didn't sleep well; he never did when Carolyn worked nights, although he was sure this had more to do with Alex than anything else. By the time his wife got home at 7:30 am from her shift, he had already drunk three cups of coffee; the heartburn indicated that drinking that much coffee had likely been a mistake. He couldn't tell if the coffee was causing the anxiety or if that's just how he was going to feel from now on.

When Carolyn walked into the kitchen, she looked tired, dark circles ringing her eyes. She flashed him a warm smile when she saw him.

"Hey."

"Hey, honey. How was your shift?" Bill attempted to make small talk. 

"Fine, busy. They brought that De La Cruz boy in last night— he was beaten up pretty bad — but he is going to make it. The correctional officers managed to intervene before the guy killed him. How does that even happen? Why didn't they put him into protective custody?"

Just thinking about the De La Cruz boy made him feel nauseous. He couldn't help but feel he failed with regards to him as well. Bill had knowingly not disclosed that the boy was physically abused at home. He remembered when he started as a young deputy, he religiously reported every case that came across his desk. Bill recalled his stance shifted on intervention after a case where he had communicated the physical abuse of a 14 year-old-boy not much different to the De La Cruz boy to Child Protective Services and ended up being called to a foster home about four months later, and that same boy was found dead due to his foster parent's neglect. It wasn't that he didn't report cases anymore, but if he felt it would do more harm than good, he'd let it go. But maybe he had made the wrong choice. Bill shook his head, "I don't know. But that's where he'll be as soon as he is well enough."

"Yeah, they are going to observe him for a couple of days before transferring him back to the county jail's infirmary."

He just nodded and felt tense. He could feel his brow furrow with worry.

Carolyn's expression shifted from weary to concerned. 

"What's wrong, Bill?"

"Can you talk to Lainie — see about getting Alex a lawyer?" He swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes burned.

"Why?" Carolyn looked confused and asked again, "Why would Alex need a lawyer?" 

Bill couldn't cry, he had to be strong for his wife, so he bit the tears back, "Oh honey, I don't know how to say this? You should probably sit down."

How could he tell his wife that her baby boy killed someone?

"Alex —" he started, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. He took a deep breath to attempt to steady his nerves. "Alex is involved with the Walker case."

It was sort of a cop-out. Bill was telling her without saying the words, and he knew his wife would see right through it. Alex was so much like Carolyn, intelligent, empathetic and able to read between the lines. 

"Involved? You aren't saying..." Her eyes grew dark, reminding him of Alex's.

Bill nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. 

Carolyn said nothing, merely staring straight forward for a moment. Maybe she was in shock?

And then finally she nodded, her own jaw steeled in determination. 

"I'll call her this morning. She is probably busy with Clay's arraignment."

"Right," Bill said. He almost forgot. "Hey, I gotta get into work. I have to talk to Diaz about getting taken off this case."

"Of course. I'll let you know what Lainie says."

"And if you could check on the boys?"

Carolyn nodded again, her voice was calm and reassuring.

"Go — we'll get through this. I love you."

He smiled at his wife, who seemed so brave, so strong, while he felt like he was crumbling under the weight of it all. 

***

Bill felt an overwhelming sense of dread walking into work. This wasn't a new feeling, but it was definitely at its most intense today. Even though it was barely eight, there were already several people milling about. He spotted Deputy Andrew Gerges and tried to avoid eye contact, but he'd already spotted him.

"Hey Bill, how are you this morning?" Deputy Gerges called after him.

Since Bill couldn't avoid talking to him, he figured he could get some information from him. He wanted to see the evidence that pointed to Alex one last time before he was officially off the case. He avoided answering the question by asking his own question.

“Hey Andrew, Walker crime scene, what did we get for footprints?”

“Not a lot. There was rain that weekend,” Andrew replied. “So, we mostly had scuff marks from the struggle.”

“Right, this here shows a limp, right?” Bill asked, pointing at the pictures of the scuff marks.

“Yeah, which can be explained by that Dempsey kid’s injury...So, that answers that.”

“Right, so the kid that was in the fight here was dragging his right foot, like Zach would've,” Bill paraphrased his colleague's observation.“What about this one? Doesn't this show a left foot being dragged?

“Yeah, possibly. Or maybe we're looking at it wrong. There's not one complete print. I wouldn't take it to court,” Andrew shrugged.

“All right. What about tire treads?” Bill inquired and Andrew showed him the pictures and confirmed his suspicion that they matched his wife’s car. 

Bill nodded, putting the picture back in the evidence box.

"Thanks Andrew, have you seen Diaz?"

"I think he's in his office."

"Thanks," Bill replied, giving his colleague a quick smile and wave, before walking directly to the Sheriff's office. 

Diaz's door was open. Bill poked his head in and asked, "Hey, do you have a moment?"

The Sheriff looked up from his papers and replied, "Yeah, what is it, Standall?"

Bill entered the office and closed the door behind him, taking one of the seats across from his boss. He let out a big sigh, closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and looking directly at Diaz. 

"I need you to take me off the Walker case."

"Why?"

"Conflict of interest. I probably should have asked as soon as you considered my son's friend, Clay Jensen, a person of interest. But Clay didn't do it." 

"But the threats? The lack of alibi? The steroids we found at the Jensen's?" Diaz countered.

"He didn't do it."

"What about the De La Cruz boy?" Diaz asked.

"He might have had a motive, but he has an alibi, and none of the evidence supports it," Bill replied, wondering if he should just come out and say it. He had to be careful what he said to give Alex the best chance with his case.

Diaz's brow furrowed as he considered what Bill was saying. 

"Are you saying… Alex?"

Bill's mouth opened to speak, but he remembered he didn't want to say anything. Diaz had worked with him long enough to read him and simply nodded.

"Talk to Andrew, we've gone over the evidence a few times together. Look at it considering the new suspect." Bill intentionally left Alex's name out of it, partially to not give too much away and partly because he wasn't sure if he could say his son's name without breaking. He continued, "But I'd call the prosecutor's office and tell them to drop the charges on Clay Jensen."

Diaz frowned.

"The judge is not going to be pleased. They hate it when we waste their time."

"I know, but better than charging the wrong person."

"For sure. What about the Achola girl? Weren’t you going to call her in today to question her?"

He had been planning on calling her in. What did Ani know? Possibly more than they did and he wanted a chance to talk to her before Diaz.

"I'd postpone it until you've had a chance to reexamine the evidence."

“And Tony Padilla?”

“There is something going on there, but it has nothing to do with the Walker case. I’d hold off on him too.”

Diaz nodded, and looked back at him, concerned. 

"Listen, if you need to take a few days or even a week to sort things out, I can approve a leave of absence."

He didn't usually take time off work. The last time he took any significant time, other than his two weeks of vacation that Diaz had practically forced him to take, was when Alex tried to kill himself. But he knew that this wasn't going to be easy and what would he even be doing at work if he was off the case? Traffic duty?

"Thanks — at least until we get things sorted out," Bill said, standing up to leave. He turned to walk out and then remembered something he wanted to ask, "Hey, uh, I don't know if this is possible, but if there is any way you could keep this quiet, I'd really appreciate it."

"I'll see what I can do," Diaz replied warmly. "You know we always do what we can to take care of our own."

All Bill could manage was a half-smile and a nod as he walked out of Diaz's office, past Andrew's desk and his own, through the waiting area and out of the Evergreen County Sheriff's Department. 

He made his way into his car, put on his seat belt and let out a deep sigh before gripping the steering wheel. His stomach twisted, his heartburn intensified, and he felt anything but reassurance as he reversed the car and drove himself home.

***

When Bill arrived home, he was greeted with the scent of bacon and eggs that had permeated the house. He made his way to the kitchen where Alex and Zach sat at the table, eating breakfast. If it had been any other day, under any other circumstances, it would be such a pleasantly mundane scene. But today, it struck him as unusual. Carolyn wouldn't typically a full spread after working a night shift, and that she'd brought out bacon, which she reserved for special occasions, felt strange. Zach usually wouldn't spend the night on a school day, and the boys were relatively calm despite it all. But perhaps they had just grown used to acting like nothing was wrong over the past couple of weeks.

"Hey honey, how did it go?" Carolyn asked as he entered the kitchen. He felt the boy's eyes shift expectantly to him. 

"Good." He walked over to the kitchen table and sat down before continuing. "Diaz gave me some time off to deal with things."

"I called Lainie. She told me the arraignment was cancelled at the last minute and that they were on their way to pick up Clay."

"Wow, that happened fast," Bill observed.

"She gave me the name of a lawyer to call, said they could probably talk to us today. Do you want some breakfast? I could cook up a couple of eggs for you, and the boys left you some bacon."

Bill smiled, imagining both Alex and Zach restraining themselves from eating all the bacon. The lighthearted thought almost seemed out of place, given the current circumstances. 

"Did you boys sleep well?"

Alex shrugged, and Bill could see the dark circles under his son's eyes. 

Zach replied politely, "As well as could be expected, Mr Standall."

"Do either of you happen to know what Ani might know about Bryce's death? I'm no longer on the case, but I'm curious as she was supposed to come in to give a statement today. I told them to hold off, but I'm still interested in what she knows."

Alex rolled his eyes, looking mildly irritated but answered, "Ani and Clay have been playing at detective for the past couple of weeks. Knowing her, she knows a lot."

"It would be good to talk to her before Diaz does, make sure her story matches up with yours and Jessica."

Alex nodded.

"Oh, and I meant to ask you about Jessica. Was she really with you that night? Because when I called her dad, Jessica told him she was home the whole night."

"She... She was with me, but — Dad, she isn't going to get in trouble, is she? She didn't do anything."

"Since it was her father relaying the information and as far as he knew, what he was telling me was true, she can't get charged with providing false information. But you are going to need her as a witness, so she will have to tell her father the truth eventually."

"But she can't get charged with anything for just watching, right?"

"They likely will charge her with accessory after the fact and then she will have to prove she was only a bystander. It certainly complicates things that neither of you said anything for almost three weeks. But she hasn't made any false statements herself to protect you so there is a good chance she can beat it. Plus, it can be part of the plea bargaining process," Bill explained. 

"Plea bargain?" Alex asked, his eyebrows lifting.

"You said you wanted to confess. A plea bargain is when you plead guilty, usually to a lesser crime in exchange for a lesser punishment so that the prosecution doesn't have to waste time on a trial. Even if you were to go in and confess right now, the prosecution still has to prove that along with your confession, there is enough evidence to convict you. This is to prevent people from confessing to crimes they didn't commit to protect others." 

"So, that's why you want the lawyer?"

"Yes, and it is why I didn't want you confessing without your lawyer present. That way, you don't end up saying something that hurts your plea bargain. They aren't lying when they say everything you say can and will be used against you." 

Bill felt his phone vibrate. 

**Diaz (8:14 am):** Enjoy Thanksgiving, we won't process the paperwork until Monday, and I'll give you a heads up

He wasn't sure how enjoyable Thanksgiving would be with this looming over their heads, but it was nice to know that nothing would happen for a few days. 

"Zach, you should probably head off to school. Could you touch base with Ani? If she is eager to talk to someone, send her my way."

"Sure, I'll talk to you later, Alex?" Zach asked.

"Yeah, thanks for... everything."

"You know I'm always here for you, Alex." 

Alex smiled, although it didn't reach his eyes. Bill noticed his son's eyes looked slightly fearful and pleading; he wasn't surprised that Alex was scared. 

_Who wouldn't be?_

Bill was terrified and hoped no one noticed.

***

Carolyn managed to book an afternoon appointment with Dennis Vasquez, the lawyer that Lainie recommended. Until that morning, he had been representing Clay but was now available given the shift in circumstances. Bill was impressed at the outward calm his wife seemed to carry herself with. He supposed they were all managing to keep it together on the surface, even Alex. But that didn't exactly surprise him; Alex had managed to keep his steroid use and steadily declining mental health from them for months. He couldn't help but wonder what other secrets he kept from them? 

Their appointment wasn't until 2 pm, so Carolyn was opting to nap until 1 pm. It was the day before Thanksgiving, so Alex wasn't going to miss much at school, and Zach said he'd grab the books he needed. Bill hoped Alex would at least be able to finish out the semester so he wouldn't have to redo the courses. And again, it seemed like a silly thing to be worrying about given the gravity of the situation. 

Alex had retreated upstairs after Zach left, and as Bill walked by his son's room, the door was slightly ajar. He gently pushed the door as quietly as he could and poked his head inside his son's room. Alex was curled in a fetal position on his bed, with his headphones in his ears. Bill couldn't tell if he was sleeping or not, but it was clear he was exhausted. Alex looked so young, so vulnerable and Bill felt all the emotions he had pushed down over the last 12 hours well up, first causing his chest to tighten, then moving to catch at the back of his throat. 

He left the threshold of Alex's room before the sob escaped, not wanting to disturb him. The tears he had bit back countless times over the past day slid down his cheeks freely now as he moved his heavy limbs in a daze, retreating to the bathroom. Through the haze of overwhelming emotion, he couldn't remember the last time he showered and decided it would make him feel better. He turned the shower on to let it warm a bit while he stripped his clothes off. He put his hand under the stream, testing the water temperature before plunging himself into the cleansing waters. Bill assumed he was still crying but could no longer distinguish between his tears and the hot water that streamed down his face, save the occasional taste of salt that found its way to his lips. 

He stood there for a long time until the taste of salt disappeared and was replaced by the lukewarm water that indicated he'd nearly drained the hot water tank.

No matter what he tried, nothing seemed to bring any comfort. 

***

Bill had only dealt with Dennis Vasquez professionally when the lawyer had visited the detachment to access evidence for whatever case he had been working on. It felt weird to be seeing him at his office with his son and wife. 

A young Asian woman with a jet black bob, stylishly dressed in a pencil skirt, blazer and horn-rimmed glasses, greeted them in the reception area.

"The Standalls?" She asked as she briefly examined each of them. 

"Yes," Carolyn answered quickly. 

"Yes, right this way." The woman walked quickly down the hall, heels rhythmically sounding on the floor, leading them to a small boardroom. The echo made by the young woman's shoes felt strangely ominous to Bill, reminiscent of hearing the sound of a teacher approaching in the hall when he was clearly not where he was supposed to be in high school. 

"Help yourself to some water, Dennis should be by shortly."

The boardroom's decor matched the reception area, modern, almost sterile looking; they sat on one side of a heavy wood table that was stained black. The windows were large, the mid-afternoon sun poured into the room and through the glass pitcher of water,causing the ice to melt more rapidly; the outside of the pitcher was covered in condensed water as if it had been sitting for a while. Carolyn busied herself by pouring them each a glass of water and placing in front of each of them, nervously sipping her own drink. Alex seemed to be absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, clearly trying to distract himself. 

The minutes they waited for Dennis felt like hours. 

When the heavy boardroom door opened, they all looked up and turned their attention to the lawyer as he walked into the room. He was well-dressed in a fitted navy blue suit, crisp white shirt and a silver paisley tie. He had dark closely cropped hair and tan skin, and his tortoiseshell glasses gave him a smart look.

Bill stood and offered his hand.

"Bill Standall." 

Dennis grasped his hand firmly and shook it.

"Dennis Vasquez, I believe we've met before, Deputy Standall."

"Please, call me Bill," Bill insisted. He wanted to clarify he wasn't a deputy when it came to his son's case. 

Carolyn flashed a gentle smile, stood and offered her hand next.

"Carolyn Standall. Nice to meet you, Dennis."

He shook her hand and asked, "You are Lainie's friend?"

"Yes, Clay and Alex are friends."

"Ah, yes," Dennis looked at Alex and addressed him, "You must be Alex."

"Uh, yeah— nice to meet you," Alex replied shyly. 

"Please sit. So, we are doing this a bit out of order, but that is OK. Normally, people call me after they've been arrested or charged, but it is always better to have representation before you need it." Dennis cast a steely glance at Bill, and he swore it was the lawyer's way of calling him out for questioning Clay without him or Lainie present. Dennis continued, "So, if I understand correctly, you want me to represent Alex?"

"Yes, that is correct," Bill responded. 

"OK, Alex — I'm going to need you to tell me everything because if I am going to defend you, I need to know everything. This allows you to control the narrative rather than us reacting as the prosecution uncovers more information. You are 18, so if you prefer, I can interview you alone if there is anything sensitive that you prefer your parents don't know — but if I'm honest, it is all going to come out in Discovery anyhow, so probably better to come clean now. I'm going to record this, but it is protected by attorney-client confidentiality."

Alex looked nervously at each of his parents and shook his head.

"No, they... they can stay. Where do you want me to start?"

"Let's start with your connection to Bryce Walker.”

"I was friends with him in sophomore year, but we had a falling out—"

Dennis interrupted him. 

"I was thinking more recently. Have you had any contact with Bryce since Jessica Davis' trial?"

"Yes, this summer, after Jessica and I broke up, I was in a bad place. My friend got me into working out, and another friend offered something to speed things up a bit.” Bill noticed that Alex made eye contact with him as if checking for his reaction, and then his eyes shifted away just as quickly as if he was scared to see how much he had disappointed him. Alex let out a long breath before continuing. “He gave me steroids, but he couldn't get me more, so I started buying them from Bryce that summer."

Bill nodded. He knew Alex had been hanging out with Bryce, but now it made more sense as to why. 

"We hung out a few times. At first, it was just to get the discount," Alex continued, shrugging.

"Discount?" Dennis probed. 

"Yeah, Bryce said I had to hang out with him if I wanted to get the steroids for half-price. They aren't cheap, so I hung out with him." 

"What kinds of things did you do when you hung out?"

"Played video games..." Alex's voice trailed off, and he glanced at each of his parents before continuing, letting out a sigh, "We did cocaine a few times together."

Without looking, Bill reached over and grasped Carolyn's hand firmly, which was cold and clammy. None of this was easy to hear as a parent, especially given it had happened basically right under their noses and up until recently, he had wrongly thought Alex was doing better.

"Did you ever buy cocaine from Bryce?" 

"No."

"So it was something you only did with him?"

"Yeah."

"Did you do anything else together?"

Alex seemed to blush and really didn't seem like he wanted to share. He stared into his lap, and after a long silence, he admitted, "He brought me to an escort once and— since you'll probably find out— Clay and Ani did — I went back on my own once."

"Why did you stop hanging out?"

"The last time we hung out together, we did some coke together, and Bryce brought me to what he thought was his father's new house and said we were just going to mess things up a little. I didn't want to, but I went along anyway. I didn't vandalize anything, and apparently, he got the wrong house, terrified this kid, and I decided I was never hanging out with him ever again."

"Did he threaten you at all?"

"No, but as soon as I stopped hanging out with him, the price of the steroids doubled. But I didn't want to stop, so I paid."

"When was the last time you bought steroids from him?"

"November 1," Alex replied. 

The Day before Homecoming, the day before Bryce was killed, Bill thought to himself as he listened. 

"Do you still have the steroids you bought?" Dennis asked.

"No, I threw them out when the police were doing the locker search. But Justin fished them out of the garbage, and I think he and Clay had them."

Bill recalled they had found a red case with steroids and Justin said that they weren't his or Clay’s and suggested that Clay was holding for a friend. 

That friend was Alex. 

"Can you tell me about where you were after Homecoming?"

Alex looked distressed but nodded.

"I went home after the game. And Jessica called me and asked me if I could sneak out. I took my mom's car and picked Jessica up. I guess Bryce wanted to meet her to give her something and she didn't want to go alone. So we went to the pier together. Bryce had been beaten up. He was in bad shape. He gave Jessica a tape that he said had a confession and an apology and then asked us to help him. Jessica wanted to leave him, but I couldn't just leave him there.” 

Bill could tell his son was nervous, but was impressed at how calm he had remained so far. He watched as Alex paused, took a long drink of water, and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants before continuing. 

“I don't really know what I thought I would do, I guess to try and get him to the car and bring him to the hospital. I helped him up and tried to support him as we walked to the car, but he must have been in a lot of pain, and he started saying he was going to ruin Zach's life and that Jessica had set him up and I guess I snapped,” Alex said the pitch of his voice rising with emotion. 

He scrunched his eyes, unable to keep the tears from falling anymore and continued thinly as if he was about to break.

“Th-This rage came over me, I saw red, and, and”—Alex sobbed and inhaled sharply—"I just couldn't see any good in him, and instead of pushing him toward the car, I pushed him off the pier. I regretted it almost instantly, but it was too late. It only took him a few seconds to drown."

Bill couldn't help but think the same thing that Carolyn uttered out loud, unable to remain silent. 

"Why did you try to help him when you should have called 911?"

"I don't know, Mom. I guess we were scared and we didn't want Zach to get in trouble for beating up Bryce." Alex looked like he was close to breaking again.

"And then you went home?" Dennis asked.

"Yeah, well—I brought Jessica home first."

Dennis just nodded, making a few more notes on a pad of paper. Then he said, "I think we can work with this. It won't be easy, especially since you waited to come forward, it kind of makes you look more guilty. But you don't appear to have a motive aside from feeling threatened in the heat of the moment. You have a witness, Jessica, who can attest to the fact that you were trying to help Bryce. There are a few options. If you want to fight this, we can go all the way. It will be a long trial, but you might be able to beat this."

Bill wasn't expecting Dennis to say that. It was in Dennis's best interest and Alex's if they could sow doubt in a jury leading potentially to the charges being dropped entirely. But it was risky because the jury could decide he is guilty and could end up with a longer sentence.

"The other option is faster, but you will still have a manslaughter charge on your record. We could do a plea bargain. It is hard to know what to do until they charge you." Dennis looked over to Bill, "Do you know if they are charging him?"

"Diaz told me they wouldn't process any paperwork until Monday."

Dennis nodded, "And do you know what evidence they have that puts Alex at the scene of the crime?"

"The tire tracks match my wife's car, and the footprints point to someone with a left side limp like Alex's. And I guess they have the steroids too."

"So without Alex's statement, their case is thin. They can prove he was there and that it might have been him that pushed Bryce. But they have no evidence for motive or anything like that. Even with Alex's statement, proving that this was anything beyond a heat of the moment mistake will be difficult for the prosecution. Think about how far you want to take this over the next few days. I'm going to give you my card and basically as soon as you've been formally charged, arrested, say nothing and call me." Dennis slid his card over to Alex and continued, "Do you have any questions?"

Alex shook his head. Bill didn't know if he had questions at this point, but he knew better than to be too hopeful, as the law could be a fickle beast. He was happy that Alex seemed to be upfront with them and that he had trusted him enough to come to him first rather than just running in to confess. 

The car ride home was quiet. He knew Carolyn was still processing everything they had discovered Alex had done in the past few months. Alex was hard to read. He didn't seem that different than he had for the past few months, which to Bill now meant absolutely nothing since clearly, Alex had been struggling unbeknownst to them. He didn't know what to say. What do you say in a situation like this?

Alex retreated to his room until supper and Carolyn went back to bed to try to get a bit more sleep. Bill ordered pizza because he knew none of them would feel like cooking.

They ate in silence until Alex put his cup down loudly, as if to get their attention, and spoke.

"Would one of you say something? I feel like you are both giving me the silent treatment."

Bill felt bad. It wasn't that he wanted to be silent. He yearned to reassure Alex, tell him that everything would be OK, but he couldn't and barring that, he didn't know what could be said.

"Sorry buddy, I know this is hard. Thanks for being so honest and open today. That must have been hard."

Bill knew it had been hard for him to listen to as every secret his son kept from him felt like a knife to his heart. He wasn't even displeased with Alex. He was disappointed in himself.

Alex just nodded, staring down at his half-eaten pepperoni and mushroom pizza, his favourite. 

Carolyn finally cracked, the unwavering front she'd put up all day fracturing into a million pieces as a choked sob escaped her. She quickly got up from the table and went to their room. Alex would think it was his fault, but Bill knew it had less to do with him and more to do with how she felt she had failed him, the burden every parent carries.

"I'm just going to check on her, are you OK?"

Alex shrugged. He wasn't. Bill wasn't even sure why he asked the question.

Then Alex spoke, "Is it OK if Zach comes over again tonight? I don't want to be alone."

"Sure, buddy. Whatever you need."

He went upstairs, and Carolyn was sitting at the edge of the bed sobbing. Bill sat beside her and rubbed her back with his hand to comfort her.

"What are we going to do, Bill? How did this even happen?" she asked, red-rimmed eyes wide and pleading.

"I guess we just take things one day at a time and honestly I don't know, "he replied, using his index finger to wipe a stray tear from her face. 

"I just feel so stupid, like all this was happening right under our nose. I guess I thought Alex was doing better." She sighed and leaned over to put her head on his shoulder. 

He didn't know if it was true, but he said it anyway, "We'll get through this. We always do."

She nodded, "I know. I — I just don't want to lose him."

Bill squeezed his arms around his wife tightly.

"Me, neither."

But Bill couldn't help but wonder, _what if they already had?_

***

The day's emotions combined with the tiredness that accompanies shift work had Carolyn in bed early that night. Peter would be arriving home tomorrow morning for Thanksgiving and Bill had no idea what they would tell him or even what they should tell him, but he guessed that was a problem for tomorrow. 

Zach and Alex had spent most of the evening in the living room watching movies until almost midnight before retiring to bed. It seemed so ordinary, so mundane, but what else should Alex do? He likely had already beaten himself up enough over this, and while he and Carolyn likely felt worse now, he probably felt better. Telling people had to have relieved some of the pressure of guarding a secret like that. 

It was past midnight, and Bill didn't feel like he'd be able to sleep. He considered making himself some chamomile tea but considering he wasn't working the next day, he felt like something stronger might be more appropriate. Bill wandered over to his liquor cabinet and selected the 15-year-old Glenfiddich Scotch whiskey. It was something he only drank on special occasions, but somehow he felt this counted. He free-poured himself a generous amount in a whiskey glass and sat back down at the kitchen table. He inhaled deeply, the smokiness of peat and notes of caramel, oak and vanilla entering his nose before taking a long sip and holding it in his mouth. It burned, but pleasantly, unlike the heartburn he'd started the day with, the heat travelling down his esophagus as the whiskey made its way to his stomach.

He realized this was one mistake he wouldn't be able to fix for his son.

Bill exhaled, the scent of his whiskey left him, and hung heavy in the air along with the silent weight of this revelation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [de_la_cruz87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_la_cruz87/works) for the beta reading, the chats and helping me tease through the tangled mess that is season 3.
> 
> Thanks to u/Great2411 on Reddit for all the help with characterization. 
> 
> I listened to [Devil Like Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=43shWAw01Vs1) by Rainbow Kitten Surprise a lot while I wrote this. I think the mood of the song kind of matches the mood of this chapter.
> 
> Chapter 3 covers the same day as this, but from Clay, Charlie, Jessica, Zach and Ani's perspectives, in that order. 
> 
> Thanks for all the feedback on Chapter 1, I really appreciate it. 
> 
> I would love to hear what you think!
> 
> Thanks for reading ❤


	3. Prison of Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day before Thanksgiving from Clay, Charlie, Jessica, Zach and Ani's perspectives in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the same day as the previous chapter.

It was both perpetually dark and light in the holding cell where Clay spent the night. There was a dank chill in the air, and the standard-issue, bright orange, stiff cotton prison uniform that stank strongly of bleach did nothing to keep the cold from seeping into his bones. Not to mention what he was wearing was itchy, and he couldn’t be sure if the underwear and socks they had given him to wear were new or if another inmate had worn them. Clay guessed the latter.

He had hardly slept. The mattress, if it could be called that, was thin, vinyl-covered foam, and all they gave him was a blanket and no pillow. How the fuck was he supposed to sleep without a pillow? There were bars just like he’d seen in movies, and somehow the holding cell area was both quiet and loud at the same time. Whether it be the jingle of one of the correctional officer’s keys or the clang of the metal doors slamming shut, the sounds kept Clay from finding rest. And the radios, the constant static and muffled voices he swore would eventually drive him crazy. This was how he was finally going to lose it.

Not to mention, Hernandez, the man in the neighbouring cell, had not had a good night. Clay only knew his name was Hernandez because every time he had called out to the guards, _“Help, me!”_ , the guards had answered back, _“Shove it, Hernandez!”_ or _“You did this to yourself, Hernandez!”_ That nobody had wanted to help this guy disturbed Clay. At one point, he’d called out, _“Would somebody help him?”_ To which the response had been a gruff, _“Shove it, Jensen!”_ He had never felt so helpless in his life. Well, almost never. This was ranking up there with not getting Bryce the punishment he deserved at Jessica’s trial or how he’d felt after Hannah died.

Hernandez wasn’t having a good morning either; Clay had already heard him wretch at least twice since the count was confirmed. And there wasn’t anywhere for him to puke, so he could only imagine it was into the single garbage can they equipped each cell with. He heard the low drone of the air conditioner firing up before the fans kicked in and the smell of vomit wafted from Hernandez’s cell into his. Clay wasn’t exactly sure what time it was, only that grumpy night staff were replaced with slightly more chipper day staff.

Clay heard footsteps approaching his cell. The guard stopped in front of his cell.

“Jensen. Today is your lucky day,” the guard quipped, voice light and melodic as he flashed Clay a toothy grin as though he were wishing him a Happy Birthday.

“I’m getting out?” Clay asked, unsure. He was pretty sure his mom told him he’d need to appear in front of a judge before getting bail.

“That’s what this paperwork says here. Let me check the computer system.”

With a few clicks of his mouse, the officer typed Clay’s name into the search bar and started nodding. He smiled.

“Yep, it says right here: charges dropped. And we don’t like to detain people longer than we have to, don’t want to get sued. Grab anything you need from your cell.”

“I, uh... didn’t have anything.”

“Perfect. I’ll call you an escort to Property to get your street clothes. Do you want to call to arrange a ride?”

“I think my mom was coming for my hearing, but maybe just in case?”

“Sure, you can use this one right here.”

Clay called, and his mother answered from her car and assured him she was on her way.

“She’s coming.”

“Good good. Well, your escort is here. All the best, and hope I never see you again.”

“Yeah, same here.”

Another correctional officer approached him, sighed, and rolled his eyes. He didn’t look too thrilled to be doing his job.

“Follow me,” he commanded, voice monotone.

So Clay did. The officer led him through the jail, down hallways, until they arrived where Clay remembered being brought to when he had first been admitted. He left him for a moment, and returned with a clear plastic bag with a paper inside that said Jensen, Clay and shoved it towards him, motioning with his hand in the direction of the washroom so he could change. The washroom was dirty, perhaps from the evening admittances, and the morning cleaners had not yet done their rounds. The smell of urine and vomit was overwhelming; he let out a sigh of relief, grateful the clothes were in a plastic bag as he gingerly placed them on the cleanest square of the floor he could find. Clay stripped off the hideous orange outfit as fast as possible, eager to remove the assigned clothes, followed by the questionable undergarments. He extracted his clothes from the bag and dressed as quickly as possible, vowing to shower first thing when he got home would. He crumpled the prison uniform in a ball and exited the washroom as fast as he could.

“W-What should I—” Clay asked the surly officer, voice small and timid, gesturing with clothes that were balled in his hands.

The officer huffed and rolled his eyes again and extended his hand. Clay handed the clothes over, and the officer chucked them into a laundry bin.

“Thanks,” Clay said.

The cynical officer looked at him like being thanked was a foreign concept. They reached a locked door and stood in front of it until there was a click-hiss. The officer pulled the door open and signalled for Clay to walk through. He did, entering an airlock, the heavy door slamming behind him. He heard the same click-hiss as before, but froze up.

A voice came through an intercom.

“When you hear the click, pull the door open.”

Clay nodded, eyes wide, both anxious and excited that only one door separated him from freedom. Part of him felt a little silly for the level of joy he was feeling being released after spending only a night at the county jail. It made him rethink all the sketchy, illegal things he had done over the last year or so. Sure, it was to help Tyler, but was it worth it? Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation, but he was questioning all his life choices. He was pretty sure he didn’t have the constitution for a life of crime.

He had his hand on the handle, prepared this time for the door to unlock.

Click-hiss

He pulled the door open, and the first thing he saw was his mother, waiting in the lobby. Never had he felt so happy to see her; a pleasant, comforting glow washed over him at the sight of her. He couldn’t help but smile at her, and she looked back at him with both affection and relief.

Clay was free.

They hugged and walked out to the car together.

“So, they dropped the charges?″ Clay asked.

“Yeah, I guess the Sheriffs got new information and elected to drop the charges.”

“New information?”

His mom nodded, continuing to keep her eyes focused on the road.

“Yeah, new as of this morning.”

“What kind of new information?” Clay continued to interrogate his mother.

He watched his mother’s expression change, the way it did when she knew something, but couldn’t tell him.

“You know what it is, don’t you?”

“I — Clay, I don’t feel like it is my place to say. You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Right,” he scoffed. Why did he feel like people always knew more than he did? He was equal parts annoyed and worried, because the fact that she wouldn’t tell him meant it was probably one of his friends.

“Clay, honey—”

“I know, I know...” he said, suddenly feeling exhausted, remembering that he hadn’t slept much last night.

His mom pulled up to the front of the house and put the car into park, then looked over at him, concerned.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m so tired... I barely slept last night,” he admitted.

“Why don’t you stay home from school? Justin can pick up your homework. It’s the last day before Thanksgiving, I’m sure you won’t miss much,” she offered.

“I…I yes, I think I should. If that’s OK?”

“Of course! I love you, Clay. I was so worried about you,” she said, her voice quavering, as she bit her lower lip.

“I love you, too.”

Clay made his way into the outhouse. Everything else could wait until after he had a shower, a shower he was sure he’d remember as being one of the best of his life.

***

When Charlie met Tyler at the library that morning, he wasn’t expecting Luke and his teammates to drop by. He was taken aback by the gentle and serious way Luke, his best friend on the team, called him over to talk. Luke’s voice usually boomed with excitement and joy, and his demeanour lacked both those qualities.

Once Charlie made it to the group, Luke took a deep breath, as if to steady himself for the worst.

“Monty’s dead,” Luke said in a quiet, mournful voice, flanked on either side by several teammates.

Charlie couldn’t believe what Luke was saying. The Monty who sat next to him at the assembly yesterday. The Monty who sexually assaulted Tyler. The Monty, who until recently, Charlie had considered a friend. Perhaps he still had considered Monty a friend, despite everything. He was in shock and only croaked out one word.

“Dead?”

Luke’s expression was pained, as though his anger from the previous day had vanished, replaced by sorrow. Both Luke and Diego were angry at him for helping Tyler, seeing it as a major betrayal. But neither of them had been in that locker-room when Bryce confronted Monty. Neither of them believed that Monty, the Monty that was their friend, their brother, could do such a thing to another person.

Charlie had been wrestling with this information for weeks now.

“I know you probably don’t care, but I thought you should know,” Luke said, crossing his arms like he was protecting himself.

At first, Charlie tried to pretend that nothing was different. He felt shitty about it now, but he’d even taken part in intimidating Tyler with Monty after knowing what he did to Tyler. Charlie wasn’t sure if he had been in denial that Monty did what Bryce said or if it was that he couldn’t fathom how anyone could do that to anyone — the very thought of it caused his stomach to turn. Perhaps it was that he couldn’t or didn’t want to imagine the Monty he knew could do such a thing.

Monty was far from perfect. He had a fiery temper, and his favourite insult was to call someone a fag, like it was the worst possible thing someone could be. Charlie had never called someone a fag before meeting Monty, and he had always felt a little uncomfortable with saying the word. He said it because Monty did, but less as a slur and more out of curiosity of whether they were into guys. Or maybe they were bisexual, like him?

But Monty could also be funny and always made Charlie feel like he had his back. He would go over plays with Charlie repeatedly until he understood, passionate about football and teaching him to be a better player. Charlie had, perhaps naively, thought that maybe he could help Monty learn how to be a better person.

Charlie had expected Monty to get arrested after he helped Tyler. He knew that was the likely outcome, and besides, Monty deserved to go to jail for what he did to Tyler. But he didn’t deserve to die.

Charlie still couldn’t believe it.

“He can’t be — he-he was alive yesterday,” Charlie’s voice faltered.

“Pozzi said someone stabbed him up in lockup. Said he saw him, and he looked bad, like he wasn’t going to make it. At least that is what he saw before the whole place went into lockdown.”

“Thanks for telling me, “Charlie said, voice sombre and quiet.

“Yeah, whatever. Could you just let Justin and Zach know? I don’t really want to talk to them right now either,” Luke said, looking away from Charlie, dejected.

“I can.”

His chest tightened, and his stomach twisted as he watched as Luke and his teammates walked away. Charlie knew he had done the right thing with Tyler. He knew it, and yet he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling inside his gut.

_Why did the right thing feel so wrong?_

***

Jessica had a lot of regrets.

As she sat on her bed, still in her pyjamas, staring at the postcard Justin had sent her when he disappeared, she listed each one in her head in no particular order.

She regretted throwing the party where she was raped.

Jessica regretted not believing Hannah when she said nothing happened between her and Alex.

In a lot of ways, things would have been easier if she and Alex had never dated, but she didn’t regret dating him. Their relationship was — complicated. She wasn’t sure which she regretted more: cheating on him at the Spring Fling, or getting back together with him. Given how everything had played out after they had dated again, they would have been better off remaining friends. They were always better as friends. And she regretted how she broke up with him. Kind of a shit move to break up with someone right after you have sex with them. OK, not just kind of — it was a shit move — she admitted to herself. Alex hated her now, and she didn’t really blame him. But she held on to hope they could be friends again.

It was her fault they were in the mess that they were in, although Alex might see it as Justin’s; his failure to be there for her because he was using again. And while she worried because Justin was using again, she didn’t regret getting back together with him. Their relationship was far from perfect, but they always pulled through. Jessica was generally cynical about things, but somehow with Justin, she believed that love was enough for them to overcome anything. She looked down at the postcard fondly as she ran her fingers over its smooth surface.

Jessica regretted meeting Bryce Homecoming night.

She regretted asking Alex to come with her, and if she could do it all over again, she would have stayed in bed and met Bryce some other time after failing to get a hold of Justin. If she had done that, maybe Bryce would still be alive. Even though Justin hadn’t been there on that fateful night, he had reassured her, after she had told him and Ani what happened, that they would come up with a plan. Her inner-cynic protested, skeptical that Justin and Ani could figure a way out of this. She had watched Alex kill someone. How was there any way out? She remembered Alex telling her it would be fine, and that he loved her, and thinking he was delusional. But likely, he had been in just as much shock as she had been.

Everything had happened so fast that night. She had been ready to leave Bryce there, but Alex couldn’t. And maybe that made him a better person than her; it was hard to say given what he did to Bryce after attempting to help him. She felt like she had scarcely blinked, and Alex had gone from helping Bryce up to pushing him into the dark, icy river water that lay beneath the pier as she had watched on, horrified.

She looked out the window as she turned all these thoughts over in her head. Part of her wondered if going to school would have been the better option. She had told her father she felt sick and would stay home from school. It wasn’t untrue. Despite having slept better than she had in weeks, Jessica felt exhausted. It had felt good to tell Justin and Ani the secret she’d been carrying for weeks. It was almost as though her body now thought it could rest, for whatever reason.

Jessica still hadn’t told Alex that she had told them. The unsent message was still sitting in her drafts. It scared her to tell him, especially given how angry he got when he’d found out she had lied to Ani about where she was that night.

Perhaps this would be another thing she would come to regret.

Her phone vibrated on her bed.

 **Justin (10: 04 am)** : hey can u bring the tape

This must be part of the plan.

 **Jessica (10:04 am)** : of course why?

She felt dumb after sending the text. He wouldn’t be able to tell her over text.

 **Justin (10:05 am)** : ill tell you when you get here

 **Jessica (10:05 am)** : ill be right there

 **Jessica (10:06 am)** : i luv u

 **Justin (10:07 am)** : i luv u 2

Perhaps it was foolish, but she felt a swell of optimism, that whatever plan Justin and Ani had would work.

For now, a small spark of hope soothed the sting of all her regrets.

***

Zach was in a daze at school. It didn’t help that he hadn’t slept very well last night. Alex had wanted him to stay in his room with him. Zach couldn’t blame him; it has been a pretty emotional night. Someone had left a sleeping pad and bag in the guest room, so they didn’t need to share Alex’s double bed. But even though he knew he wasn’t directly responsible for Bryce’s death, he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he hadn’t beat Bryce up, Alex would have never been in the position he was. He wouldn’t have been helping Bryce up. Bryce wouldn’t have said those things that triggered Alex’s rage, and he would likely still be alive.

Zach hobbled on his crutches to his gym locker. It was lunch hour, and he figured it was time to clean it out, as he would never play again. He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to do it today. He heard the squeak of the hinges of the locker room door open and turned to see Justin walk in.

“Cleaning out your locker?” Justin said, stating the obvious.

“Yeah, it’s not like I’m ever going to play again,” Zach said as he continued to pack the items from his locker into his gym bag.

“Is that what the doctors said?”

“They said maybe if I work really hard for like a year, I might play again. But by then it will be too late, so why bother?”

“That doesn’t sound like the Zach Dempsey I know.”

Zach remembered how, just that summer, he had been the one talking Justin back into playing football. That it would be good for him. Even though it was only a few months ago, it felt like a lifetime. Homecoming felt like it was almost a year ago, and it had only been three weeks.

“Well, I guess I’m not really feeling much like that Zach Dempsey,” he scoffed, spitting the words as if they left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Listen, I didn’t come here to fucking talk to you about whether or not you’ll play again, even though I do think you should give it a shot,” Justin said, as he moved closer to Zach.

Zach gave him a long look. Justin’s brow furrowed and his eyes grew dark. A moment of silence passed between them before he spoke again.

“Monty’s dead.”

“What? I heard he got arrested — how is he dead?” Zach asked, shocked. He didn’t like Monty; he never had. But it almost didn’t seem possible that he could be gone.

Zach had lost some many people in the past couple years: Jeff, his dad, Hannah, Bryce, and now Monty.

And then there were the people that he’d come close to losing. He’d almost lost Alex once, nearly twice if he hadn’t decided to reach out last night. Justin, once, but maybe more than once. It was hard to know with Justin, especially since he was using again; he could overdose at any time.

“Pozzi, Luke’s steroid dealer, told him after he got out of country lockup and Luke told Charlie and Charlie told me. I guess he got stabbed up real bad, which isn’t really surprising given his charges.”

“Shit, Justin.” Zach shook his head.

“Yeah, fuck, I know.” Justin’s voice came out raspy and thick with emotion.

They stood in awkward silence. Even though neither of them spoke, there almost seemed to be an echo in the locker-room. Zach changed the subject.

“How’s Clay? Did he get out?”

“Yeah, actually, they dropped all the charges this morning. I guess there was new information or whatever.”

Zach nodded, pretty sure he knew why.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’m not. Clay talked a lot of shit, but I don’t think he could kill Bryce.”

“Yeah, but people can surprise you.”

Zach thought about how just last night, his best friend had told him he had killed Bryce Walker. He never thought of Alex as someone capable of killing someone. Alex had a good heart, and in many ways, Zach felt Alex was a better person than him. Alex had a temper, but so did he, and considering how Alex said it happened, Zach was starting to think that almost anyone, given the right circumstances, could find themselves in such a position. He had almost killed Bryce himself earlier Homecoming night. In some ways, what he did was worse because he had wanted to hurt Bryce. He had wanted to make sure Bryce hurt at least as much as he did.

Zach shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Listen, I don’t know how to fucking say this”—Justin paused as he ran his hand through his hair and let out a long breath—"but I know who killed Bryce."

Zach raised his eyebrows. If he had to guess, Jessica told him. But he still couldn’t bring himself to say Alex’s name out loud.

“I — know, too. I — uh, found out last night.”

“Shit. Well, I met with Jess and Ani last night, and we sort of came up with a plan to help Clay. But maybe we can use it to help—”

“Dude, he told his dad last night, and Standall likely told the Sheriff this morning, which is how the charges got dropped.”

“That really doesn’t help our plan.”

“Well, maybe that is for the best for once. Aren’t you tired of covering stuff up? Wouldn’t it be better just to come clean?”

“I don’t know, man. Juvie fucking sucked. I can only imagine that adult prison sucks more,” Justin said, unsure.

“So what — was the plan?” Zach asked, curious what his friends had schemed up this time. He had wanted to call the cops when Tyler had shown up with a gun to Spring Fling, ready to commit a mass shooting, but everyone had overruled him. He had refused to help them with their insane plan to rehabilitate Tyler that summer on principle.

“We — well, Ani was going to go to Standall and give a statement, making it look like it was someone else. Like, not one of us.”

“So, you were going to frame someone? Fuck, Justin.”

“At first I was thinking Seth, but that was a stupid idea, but when I found out Monty was dead—”

“Seriously? Dude, I mean Monty is scum, but even if he is dead, he doesn’t deserve to have a murder he didn’t commit pinned on him.”

“If it would save one of us from a criminal record and going to prison?” Justin offered, his eyes wide, almost innocent looking. Zach recognized the look. He’d seen Justin use it to get what he wanted before.

“Even so. How could we live with ourselves knowing we did that?” Zach argued. He almost couldn’t believe what Justin was suggesting.

“Ani—”

“Where is Ani?” Zach interrupted as if it was urgent. He was nervous that Justin wasn’t just talking about a plan that was in the past. Perhaps he was talking about a plan that was underway.

“She’s already on her way to the Sheriff’s.”

“Shit, you need to stop her. Standall isn’t there, and if she lies it could really fuck things up for,” — Zach’s brow furrowed, and he still couldn’t say Alex’s name — “all of us.”

Justin pulled his phone out and texted Ani.

Zach hoped it wasn’t too late.

***

Ani couldn’t help but get involved with things that other people said were none of her business.

Although, at this point, she had entwined herself enough that it was her business now, regardless of what they said. Moving around a lot meant Ani had to make friends quickly, so she formed bonds more rapidly than other people might, faster than people often understood. Her motivation for getting involved was simple and almost always the same: she did what she did for the people she came to care about.

She was sitting in the waiting room of the Evergreen County Sheriff’s Department, waiting for Sheriff Diaz to see her. The receptionist, an older woman with graying hair, deep frown lines and a permanently dour expression, told her she might have to wait awhile since they were short-staffed. Ani had only been waiting five minutes when her phone vibrated in her hand. She flipped it over and saw a single notification.

 **Justin (12:42 pm)** : ABORT

 **Justin (12:42 pm)** : meet us in the student council lounge

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough that the receptionist looked in her direction, eyebrows raised at the foul language she used, and Ani hypothesized that was how the woman had developed such deep wrinkles on her forehead.

Ani maintained eye contact and returned the look with a pleasant smile before standing and approaching the desk.

“So, my friend just texted me to remind me of the math test I forgot about, and I’ve got to get back to school right away.”

If it was possible, her frown lines deepened.

“What should I tell the Sheriff?” the receptionist asked; her voice was deep and raspy, and Ani could smell the faint scent of stale cigarette smoke emanate from the older woman.

“Oh, uh — no need to bother him. I’ll come back another day,” Ani said as casually as she could muster.

“But Miss, I thought you said it was urgent?” The older woman tapped her pen against the desk, irritated that Ani had wasted her time.

“I’m so sorry.” Ani smiled awkwardly and walked out of the Evergreen Sheriff’s Department as fast as she could.

She hopped on her bike and rode back to the school, wondering what had caused Justin to send such an urgent text. It was as good a plan as any, and none of the plans seemed great to her at this point. She didn’t like the idea of framing Monty, even though he was dead.

But it seemed to be the lesser of two evils.

Was it problematic that they were framing anyone for murder? It was, but what choice did they have? Everything had gotten so tangled. So many of them had lied to protect someone or something. It was a mess, and until receiving the text message from Justin, she had been confident that they had come up with something that would work. Jessica was bringing the tape that Charlie would plant in Monty’s locker. The tape would place Monty at the scene of the crime and Ani would ensure that at the end of her statement that he would seem like the most likely suspect and hope that Standall would buy the story. It sounded simple, but it was anything but.

Ani had a way of uncovering the truth.

People didn’t always like her very much because of it; at her last school, her nickname was Nancy Drew, and the other kids claimed she was nosy. And they weren’t wrong. She knew that she always seemed to get tangled up in the middle of things. They had moved to Evergreen, partly because her mother had secured employment with the Walkers, and partly because Ani needed to get away from the drama she had found herself in at her old high school in Oakland. Drama that stemmed once again from her trying to stand up for her friends. But that problem, her intervening in a case of cyberbullying that led to her being ostracized, seemed like a pretty minor issue compared to what she was dealing with now.

Her mother was also aware of her tendency to get involved in drama.

She could hear her mother’s words from breakfast resonate in her head as she peddled as fast as she could towards Liberty High.

_“Amorowat, I told you not to get involved.”_

But Ani couldn’t help herself.

She never could, especially when her friends’ lives were at stake.

From Bryce’s disappearance, the police had paid too much attention to Clay for Ani’s liking. She knew and believed Clay wasn’t involved from the beginning. Her nosiness was partially driven by a desire to clear Clay’s name. But it was complicated because she was friends with Bryce as well, despite warnings to avoid him. The other part of her motivation came from a desire to find out who killed her friend.

She wasn’t expecting to find it was another one of her friends.

That complicated things further, especially when all the choices seemed to be bad.

Lunch hour was just finishing as she rode up to the school. She manoeuvred her bike into the rack and locked it to the steel bar to discourage thieves.

She wove her way deftly through the crowd. There were advantages to being small, and one of them was moving quickly through people to get to her destination.

When she arrived in the student council room, Jessica, Charlie, Tyler and Zach sat at a table while Justin paced.

“Oh god, I’m fucking glad you made it,” Justin said as she entered the room.

“What is going on? Where is Clay? Alex?” Ani asked.

“Clay was exhausted after his night in the county lockup, and Lainie said he could stay home and rest,” Justin replied.

“And Alex has an appointment today — with a lawyer,” Zach added. “Alex confessed to me, and then his Dad last night. I’m assuming the Sheriff’s Department knows now since Clay’s charges were dropped.”

Ani looked at Jessica, who looked ill. She figured she must be worried about what this will mean for her and Ani felt for her, knowing things were going to get harder before they would get better, especially since Alex was likely going to prison for this.

“Why haven’t they arrested Alex yet?” Ani wondered out loud.

Zach shrugged.

“I don’t know, but Standall still wants to talk to you. Off the record.”

Part of her wondered about how much Standall had already put together before Alex confessed. Even before Jessica told her the truth about where she was that night, through her novice sleuthing, Ani knew Jessica had been lying to her about where she was. And while Alex had lied to them about buying steroids from Bryce, he had told them the truth about who he was with that night. She would ask Zach later the best way to go about contacting Standall for a meeting.

Ani looked at Charlie.

“Did you get the tape back?”

“Yes, Jessica has it again,” he replied, eyes meek as if he was scared.

Justin had slowed his pacing. His brow furrowed as he ran his hand through his hair and finally, he threw his hands in the air.

“We’re fucked now, aren’t we?” Justin said.

“I don’t think so — if anything, we are less fucked,” Zach stated. “How could we live with ourselves knowing we framed someone for murder? Sure, maybe we’d escape prison, but that shit will eat at someone’s conscience.”

“You say we, but really you mean me and Alex,” Jessica retorted.

“Alex asked his dad about you. They might charge you with accessory after the fact, but he thinks you have a good chance of beating it because you haven’t lied to the cops about anything yet.”

Jessica’s eyes grew wide, and she looked scared as she spoke again.

“But I told my dad I was home in bed? Doesn’t that count as lying to them?”

“No, you lied to your dad, and he thought he was giving them the truth, but that doesn’t count,” Zach replied, maintaining eye contact with Jessica as he did. “You should probably talk to Alex. He is going to need you to confirm his story.”

Jessica nodded. Ani watched her take out her phone and compose a text, she assumed to Alex.

“So what do we do now?” Jessica asked.

Ani wasn’t sure, but it looked like the problem was out of their hands now, for better or worse. She summarized what they knew.

“So obviously Alex’s parents are getting him a lawyer; they haven’t formally charged him yet” — she paused and glanced around the room at the anxious faces of her friends — “I think there is only one thing we can do — Wait.”

Ani hated waiting, probably because it was the opposite of taking action, and made her feel helpless, but there was nothing else they could do at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [de_la_cruz87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_la_cruz87/works) for the beta reading, the chats and keeping me motivated to write. 
> 
> Thanks to u/Great2411 on Reddit for all the help with characterization, especially Ani in this chapter. 
> 
> This chapter is named after the song [Prison of Decision](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Iq5kvM5Jyc) by Drehz.
> 
> I've started a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0OVwWn1OKURMDrJKx5uRRY?si=35a38a3fb79d4652) for this story if anyone is interested. Totally optional and not required to enjoy the story but are definitely part of my creative process for writing so I thought I would share.
> 
> Chapter 4- Thanksgiving is up next week and is from Peter, Alex and Tyler's perspective.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting 💜


	4. Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving at the Standall's and Tyler's exhibition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can assume that the Jensen's Thanksgiving happens exactly as in canon.

Peter never knew what to expect when he came home to visit, and this Thanksgiving was no different.

At least things would be better than last Thanksgiving. Nothing could be as difficult as spending most of the holiday at his brother’s bedside, who was in a coma because of his suicide attempt. He remembered how the bright fluorescent lights illuminated the turkey dinner the hospital cafeteria had been serving. It hadn't been a bad meal, standard turkey dinner, box stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy with Brussel sprouts, and he remembered feeling bad for enjoying the time he spent with his parents away from Alex. Were you allowed even a moment of happiness while your brother was hanging on by a thread? 

He never had answered that question. 

Peter had arrived that morning. His mother had greeted him with a big hug that lasted a little longer than normal, where she gripped him slightly harder than usual, and he noticed how tired she looked. But when he asked her how she was, her answer was just fine. 

Everyone knew _fine_ was code for _everything is fucked up._

Peter tried to remember the last time things were good for their family. But it was a long time ago, probably before Alex hit puberty. Before he became a moody and depressed teenager struggling to figure out who he was. Peter had always had sports, and that meant he generally fit in. He could tell it wasn't that way with Alex, and it hadn't helped that Dad had unintentionally put pressure on Alex to be more like Peter. His father naively thought that maybe Alex's life would be easier if he had more guy friends or was just into more traditionally masculine things like Peter was. He hadn't seen it at the time, but he could now, and it was heartbreaking. Every time his dad had encouraged these things, he had been telling Alex to be less like himself. 

His father had come a long way in a year, and Alex seemed better if he didn't look too closely. 

On the surface, Alex appeared to be making progress. Peter was pretty sure that is what his parents thought. But there were little things. Like Alex had never been athletic, even before the attempt, he often proclaimed to Peter that he hated exercise — aside from walking and snowboarding, neither of which was very strenuous. He remembered that only a year ago, Alex had needed so much encouragement to do the physical therapy required to help him walk again. And now it felt like every time he phoned home to see how things were, Alex was at the gym. His brother had become some sort of gym rat. Working out seemed to help with his confidence, but he was moodier and more volatile than before. The doctors said that was common with TBI patients, but Peter wondered how normal it was? 

He wondered which version of his brother he'd be visiting today. 

Alex and his friend Zach were sitting at the dining room table, breakfast long since consumed when he arrived. They were sitting quietly, Alex sipping a cup of coffee, eyes fixed on a point on the wall, giving the impression that his mind was a million miles away. 

Zach acknowledged him with a silent nod and attempted an awkward smile. 

Peter skipped the small talk. Something was up. First his mother, and her tired eyes and reluctance to let him go. And now both Alex and Zach were strangely sullen, as if someone had died. And then it occurred to him, someone had died — Bryce Walker. It was all over the news, even in the city. He wasn't around enough to know if Bryce's death should impact either of them to this extent.

Peter grabbed a strip of cold bacon from the few remaining on the platter at the centre of the table and munched on it as they sat in uncomfortable silence. He broke the ice. 

"Where is Dad?"

They both looked at each other and exchanged the kind of expression accomplices to a crime would, like they were wondering whether they could trust him with the truth. It was bizarre. Everything about this morning had been strange so far, like everyone knew something he didn't. 

"Uh, he's talking with our friend — Ani," Zach answered quickly. 

"Why?" Peter asked before he could stop himself. It just seemed weird that he would talk to one of their friends, alone. 

They exchanged another guilty look. There was definitely something going on. 

_Great._

It was going to be another happy fucking Thanksgiving at the Standall's.

Peter grabbed another piece of bacon. 

"I'm going to bring my bag down to the guest room."

Alex looked away from the point he was staring at on the wall, made eye contact, and gave him a quick nod of acknowledgement. 

Zach gave him a slight smile, polite but morose.

As Peter made his way downstairs, he saw a preppy-looking, golden brown-skinned girl with a short coiled bob, who he had never seen before, sitting at one end of the couch in the basement. His Dad was sitting at the opposite end. He assumed the girl was Ani. She was sitting up straight, on the edge of the seat of the couch. She looked like she was there for a job interview rather than a friend invited over on Thanksgiving morning. His Dad was wearing jeans and a cream, maroon and green plaid shirt — his weekend uniform — but Peter noticed he had his 'interrogation face' on, and was business-like despite the setting. He shook his head as he walked by — his Dad never could leave work at work. 

It did not appear to be a comfortable conversation.

Despite the tension, they were both so engrossed in their conversation, they didn't notice Peter slip into the guest bedroom. It used to be his room — his parents had redecorated it when he had moved out for good last summer. He could hear them well from the bedroom, and he decided he would listen for a bit, for any clues as to why people were acting so strange. Perhaps he was more like his Dad than he liked to admit. He had considered going into law enforcement, but the current plan was to become a lawyer — if he could get into law school. 

"So, what was the plan — before Zach talked to Justin?” his Dad asked, in a tone Peter was unfortunately familiar with, the one his Dad used to use on him when he arrived home past curfew, expecting an explanation. 

"I was going to give a statement outlining a motive and an alibi for everyone," a female, British-accented voice responded.

"Even Alex?"

"Yes."

Peter wondered what kind of mess Alex and his friends were tangled in that they needed alibis? Could it be Bryce's murder? He kept listening.

"So, if you had an alibi for everyone, who was going to take the fall?" his Dad's voice inquired again.

"It was sort of a — last-minute addition to the plan, but when we found out Monty was dead—"

He heard his father interrupt Ani. Peter vaguely remembered Alex hanging out with a Monty when they first moved to Evergreen, but he didn't think they were close friends. 

"Where did you hear Monty was dead?"

"Tim Pozzi told Luke he saw Monty die when he was in county lock-up. Luke told Charlie, who told Justin, and Justin relayed it to me."

"So, you were just going to take the word of this _dealer,_ that Monty was dead?" his Dad asked, voice dripping with condescension. It was pretty clear his father didn't have a high opinion of most people that found themselves on the other side of the law, and this _Pozzi_ was no exception. But Peter also detected a bit of that directed at Ani as if his father thought it was a foolish plan; it intrigued him enough to continue to listen. This was stuff he only thought happened on TV or in books, and here his Dad and this girl were talking about alibis and another teen that might be dead. 

What the fuck was going on?

While he couldn't see her, he could sense her hesitation to answer. If she said yes, she was basically admitting she was stupid, but he realized that is exactly what they had thought. 

"Well—" she hesitated.

But his Dad didn't let her finish. 

"Monty isn't dead."

Peter heard Ani inhale sharply, as if this information shocked her.

"Well — I guess it is a good thing that Zach talked to us in time," she said with more confidence.

They sat in silence for a bit, and Peter decided it was as good a time as any to go back upstairs.

Whatever was going on, it wasn't anything Peter could have predicted. 

Something was definitely up. 

***

Alex was only vaguely aware of Peter arriving. To say he'd been out the past few days since he confessed to Zach and his father would be an understatement. He was lucky he had Zach and found his presence calming, even though they would often just sit quietly together. Many people would feel the need to fill the silence with small talk, but Zach never did. Unfortunately, Zach's mother had insisted he spend Thanksgiving with his family, so he had left while Peter was downstairs much longer than it usually took him to put his bag in the guest room. 

"Where'd Zach go?" Peter asked as he reentered the dining room.

"Home for dinner. His mother insisted," he answered between mouthfuls of the slice of cold bacon he was snacking on. 

Ani and his Dad came into the dining room from the basement.

His mother came in to greet Ani from the kitchen.

"Will you be joining us for dinner, Ani?"

"No, I'll be having dinner with my mother, but thanks for the offer," she replied graciously. "I'll see you at Tyler's exhibition, Alex?"

"Yeah, I'm coming with Jessica."

"Thanks for speaking with me, Ani," his dad interjected and flashed a friendly smile at her.

Ani smiled politely and nodded, moving towards the front to put her shoes on to leave. Alex noticed she seemed in a hurry to leave. He wondered what his dad had said to her, but he hadn't wanted to be part of that conversation, which is why he had stayed upstairs.

His mother took the remains of the plate of bacon and brought it into the kitchen, muttering something about not wanting them to ruin their dinner under her breath. Breakfast had been hours ago now, and they would eat Thanksgiving dinner earlier than usual because of Tyler's exhibition.

They sat in silence at the table for a moment, the sun pouring through the window. Alex drained his third cup of coffee, a little sad it was empty. He hadn't been sleeping well, so the coffee was the only thing that was keeping him going. Unfortunately, it didn't help with the constant dread he felt recently. While confessing had felt good, the meeting with the lawyer had only made it more apparent that this was just the beginning. 

"So, how have you've been?" Peter asked, as if at a loss for anything else to converse about.

What was he supposed to say to that? Good, other than the fact that I killed someone? Good, except I was thinking about killing myself again a couple of days ago? Peter was more perceptive than people gave him credit for. Alex shrugged and settled on something close to the truth. He was tired of pretending to be OK.

"If I’m being honest — I've been better."

Peter's lips pressed into a thin line; he looked worried. Peter nodded, as if Alex had confirmed something he already knew to be true.

"So, why was Dad interrogating your friend in our basement on Thanksgiving?" Peter's tone was hushed, almost conspiratorial, and reminded him of better times of scheming with his brother to 'steal' Halloween candy from their respective hauls. Their mother had kept the candy stashed away, doling out a ration of only two pieces a day, and it had always been a fun game to try to obtain more. 

Alex shrugged, knowing that Peter would likely see right through it and hoped he wouldn't press the issue. 

The doorbell rang. Saved by the bell, it seemed.

"I should get that — It's probably Jessica." 

Alex was both excited and nervous to see Jessica. While they had texted a bit yesterday, they had left things to be resolved in person. He opened the door. It was the first time they'd seen each other since they had independently told their friends what happened that night. Jessica had texted him that she was worried he would be mad that she told Justin and Ani.

He wasn't. 

It had been time to tell someone.

Besides, even if he had been angry, after everything they'd gone through, he found it impossible to stay mad at Jessica. They both had a tendency to lash out at each other in the heat of the moment and regret their words later.

When he opened the door, Jessica quickly moved toward him. Saying nothing, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug, and they held each other for a long moment. Alex couldn't remember the last time they'd hugged and could feel his body relax as they held each other. He'd missed their friendship and hoped that this was the start of finding their way back to being friends. 

As they released each other, Jessica gave him a soft, apologetic smile. 

"I—" Alex started.

"—am sorry," Jessica finished. 

Alex managed a slight, affectionate smile.

"Me too."

Alex moved out of the doorway’s threshold to allow Jessica to enter the house, and after she entered, he closed the door behind her. She removed her shoes, and he led them up to his bedroom so they could chat a bit before dinner. 

Jessica sat on his bed, leaning back on her hands and let out a long, weary breath. 

He couldn't help himself from doing the same in response. The anxiety he had been experiencing had him holding his breath a lot lately, and it felt good to let it out. He turned his desk chair around to face Jessica and also took a seat, hunching forward as if the weight of his guilt prevented him from sitting up straight, elbows resting on his knees.

He wanted to say he missed her, because it was the truth, but his mind flashed back to all the times that saying this or similar things had caused her to push him away. So he said nothing. 

They sat in silence for a little while, which Alex was sure was driving Jessica a bit nuts because she was the first to speak. 

"I'm scared," she said. 

Alex's chest tightened in response, and he could feel his stomach lurch. His gaze met hers, and he swore he could see his own fears and worries reflected along with hers when he looked into her deep brown eyes. 

"Me too. I didn't know what I was going to do. I wrote a confession, and I was thinking of..." his voice trailed off, and he couldn't look her in the eyes. His first attempt had hurt her enough.

"Jesus Christ, Alex!" Jess cursed, her eyes growing watery with concern.

"I know, I know... but I didn't see any way out — maybe there isn't a way out."

"Don't say that..." her voice came out smaller and softer than usual, and a single tear ran down Jessica's cheek.

He could see how much his admission that he'd been thinking of ending his life again hurt her. The knot of guilt in his gut twisted, and his nausea intensified.

Alex changed the subject.

"The lawyer said he thinks I have a good chance if we take it to trial. But I don't know if I want to go through a trial."

"But if you win, you wouldn't have to go to prison, " she countered stubbornly. 

"But I did it, Jess — I killed someone. I deserve to be punished. Why bother going through a trial, where they'll dig all sorts of dirt on me? You saw what happened at Hannah's trial, at Bryce's. I don't think I can do it," he said, shaking his head wearily. 

"What kind of dirt, Alex? You are a good person."

"Well, I hung out with Bryce last summer and let's just say our activities were less than wholesome. And if Ani and Clay could uncover it, I know the professionals will discover it as well," Alex said, ruefully. 

Jessica shuddered. Alex figured just the idea that he spent time with Bryce willingly was repulsive to her. He wasn't exactly proud of it himself. 

"Well, what is the alternative?"

"I guess if you plead guilty, you can do what they call a plea bargain where they'll negotiate a lighter sentence in exchange for a guilty plea and no trial. It is usually a lot faster, which means I'll be able to get on with life faster."

"But you'll have a record..."

Alex sat up and shrugged. They sat in silence for a bit.

Jessica collapsed backwards onto the bed and groaned.

"I wish I'd never agreed to meet Bryce."

While Alex also wished he had never agreed to go with her, he knew that he'd make the same choice all over again. He would always choose to be there for her.

"Well, we can't undo the past. One thing I do know, I need you. You are the only person who can back up my story."

Jessica sat up quickly, and leaned forward.

"I'll do whatever you need me to," she replied with a tinge of desperation in her voice.

Alex's mom appeared in the doorway and poked her head into the room.

"Dinner’s ready."

"We'll be right down, Mom," Alex smiled at his mom, and she turned and headed back downstairs.

"You know I'll always love you, Alex, right?" Jessica asked as she looked upon him with her eyes wide with fondness. "You are the best friend I've ever had."

Alex had wanted nothing more than to hear these words for months, and all he managed to do in response is give a warm smile and nod. He had given up on sharing romantic love with her, having come to the slow realization that they didn't work as a couple but hoped she knew he would always love her. But he wanted nothing more than to have his best friend back. He missed her.

They both stood up and walked towards Alex's door, and before exiting, Jess extended her hand, and gave him a determined look. 

"FML, forever?"

Alex covered her hand with his and gave her a confident smile, even though he felt uncertain about the future. 

"FML, forever."

They made their way down to the table, where a large turkey roasted until golden brown rested, accompanied by various sides, including his favourite: stuffing. The smell of butter, sage, rosemary and thyme permeated the air. It was no doubt nicer than whatever his family had eaten last Thanksgiving when Alex had been in a coma. He felt a strange mixture of feelings: a twinge of guilt combined with being grateful that he hadn't gone through with any of his more recent plans to repeat history. 

Peter and his parents were already seated at the table, and he and Jessica sat down next to each other. It was weird because even though things seemed to be in limbo right now, and Alex felt off-kilter, he couldn't help but be happy to have patched things up with Jessica and be surrounded by his family. 

As was traditional, his Dad said Grace.

They weren't a religious family. Both his mother and father had grown up in Christian families, but they hadn't attended church regularly as a family since Alex was six years old. Keeping him and Peter from fighting with each other or causing general mischief during the service, combined with the fact that they both worked shift work, which one or both of them worked Sunday, made regular attendance difficult, and they eventually stopped attending. Alex remembered attending a Christmas service some years, but attending church wasn't a regular thing in their household.

"Heavenly Father, we thank you for this wonderful food. For our families, Lord, and for our friends, and all of your abundant blessings. Father, please bless and keep our children safe. All of our children. Their world is darker than ours. And, Father, forgive us for what we've done to make it that way. May God keep us all and help us to be truly grateful for our life and our freedom. This we ask in the name of Christ, our Heavenly Father." 

A chorus of muttered Amens sounded from around the table after he finished the prayer. 

It was a slight variation on the prayer his dad recited on holidays. A little darker, which Alex figured was because of him. He felt another pang of remorse, and thought a silent prayer to a God he didn't even know if he believed in.

Please, God, forgive me.

It was quieter than usual at the table. His mother seemed exhausted. She was dressed up, but even with her long blond hair styled and her makeup done, nothing could completely hide the puffiness of her eyes or the dark circles that stood out against her pale skin. His dad looked equally weary, as if he stayed up too late the night before. Alex knew he had, as he lay in his bed awake the night before, struggling to sleep, and could hear his father moving around in the kitchen. 

Alex noticed his dad got Peter to carve the turkey, perhaps because, under closer inspection, his hand trembled slightly when he picked up his wine glass to take a sip. They passed the food around and ate in relative silence as Peter attempted to make small talk. 

"How is school going, Alex?" his brother asked him between bites of mashed potato.

"It's fine," Alex said, pushing his salad around, his appetite fading. It wasn't a lie. He’d sort of hyper-focused on school in the past few weeks as something to distract him from his thoughts. When were they going to tell Peter what was up? He wasn't going to. He couldn't. The idea of his brother finding out what he did made him want to crawl into a hole. He had always looked up to Peter. 

What would he think of him, knowing what he did?

Usually, his mother or father would make conversation, but they were both strangely silent. A heaviness hung in the air, an atmosphere that had become common recently. Alex felt his chest tighten, and his next breath was a little more laboured than the last.

Peter asked another question. 

"How's work, Dad? Weren't you on that Walker case?" Peter asked. 

That was the wrong question. Alex heard everyone other than Peter inhale sharply at the same time—a collective gasp. Alex looked to his father, who appeared slightly panicked as he looked over to his mother, who seemed surprised that this even came up, even though to Alex it was the elephant in the room that everyone but Peter knew about. Jess reached over to grab his hand in an attempt to comfort him. 

His father opened his mouth to answer the question and promptly closed it. How could he break this kind of news?

The silence had extended too long. Peter wasn't stupid, and he knew something was up. He glanced around the table.

"What the fuck is going on? You've all been acting really strange since I arrived."

His father exhaled the breath he'd been holding since Peter asked the question. 

"I don't know how to tell you this" — his dad paused, took a long sip of his wine and put his glass back down on the table — "I'm not on the Walker case anymore."

"Why?" 

Alex's dad looked at him — not accusingly, but fondly, like he was something precious that he was close to losing, his eyes watering a bit. Alex looked down, unable to maintain eye contact with his dad while he gazed at him like that. 

"Conflict of interest," his Dad said, still looking at Alex as if those three words explained everything.

Alex watched as Peter's expression changed from confused to shocked to pained as he looked at him.

He hated the way his brother was looking at him.

He hated that this is how people were going to look at him from now on. 

Pity or disgust or both. 

Tears burning in his eyes, unable to bear it anymore, he got up from the table and retreated to his room as fast as he could. He heard the footfalls of Jessica as she followed him from the dining room to his bedroom. 

How was he going to live like this?

***

Monet's was busy for a Thanksgiving afternoon. 

The familiar scent of vanilla and freshly ground coffee beans filled the air, and the café was abuzz with the chatter of people. Most of the people in the café were his friends, and Tyler paced back and forth as he waited for the last of them to arrive, anxiously adjusting his light blue dress shirt and the black and grey floral bowtie that felt tight against his neck. Tyler had considered cancelling the exhibition given the more recent events, but they had planned this afternoon long before Bryce Walker was killed. It had been Justin's idea after he'd caught him taking his picture a few months ago, and had taken almost as long to put all the photos together. 

Until recently, he had no reason to believe any of his friends would be involved with Bryce Walker's death, and Alex was the person he least expected. He was still in shock at the revelation. Tyler also understood the desire to hurt people that had hurt him. He almost felt like a different person than the boy that had wanted to inflict pain on those who had bullied and assaulted him, that had yearned to end it all just over six months ago. But based on what Zach had told them, Alex had never planned to kill Bryce Walker, which made it very different from what he had almost done.

As he waited, Tyler's feelings alternated between appreciative and uneasy.

On the one hand, he still found it amazing how far he'd come since April, when he'd been ready to end his life as well as the lives of many others at the Spring Fling. He had been in a dark place, and everyone he included in this exhibition had helped to bring him back into the light. And it was only a couple of weeks ago that he'd felt confident enough that he didn't want to die, that he had parted with the handgun he'd kept just in case he couldn't bear to live anymore. It was nice not feeling like he needed that kind of backup plan anymore. 

But, in the back of his mind, he was worried about Alex. It didn't help that Alex hadn't arrived yet and wasn't answering any of his text messages. From what Zach said, he wasn't doing well, which was understandable, all things considered.

Tyler understood, probably better than most people.

He spotted Justin approaching him with a broad smile on his face. Tyler wasn't sure how Justin could look so happy when everything was falling apart, but maybe it was because of everything he'd gone through. Justin hadn't exactly had the easiest life and perhaps had gotten used to smiling even when things were tough. 

"You almost ready?" Justin asks.

"Uh — yeah," Tyler said, wrapping his arms around himself. "Have you heard — fr-from Alex?" 

"Nope, he isn't texting me back either," Justin responded. This, in itself, wasn't cause for concern as Alex and Justin hadn't been friendly with each other since the summer. Tyler had remembered feeling a bit like the child of a divorced couple, as Jessica would often ask Alex to take her times to hang out with him so that she could hang out with Justin. It had kind of made him feel unwanted, but back then he preferred hanging out with Alex anyhow. He had since become closer to Jessica, as Clay had encouraged him to reach out to her given she was also a sexual assault survivor. It had felt good to tell her what was going on with him. While it had been hard to tell Clay, to tell Jessica and to stand up at the assembly, every time he did, he felt like he gained a bit more strength, a bit more power over what happened to him.

"Do you think he's OK?" Tyler asked, earnestly.

"I hope so," Justin reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "Let me know when you want to do the big reveal."

Cyrus, MacKenzie, Eric and Chad walked in, and Cyrus gave Tyler a quick wave and a smile. Tyler waved back, feeling awkward. They were never friends like they had been before he went to the Diversion Program, but Tyler still considered him a friend. Cyrus would always be the friend he had when he thought he had no one. 

Even though he knew how many people would be here because he developed each photo that was part of the exhibit, he was still in awe that there were this many people here for him—that they had actually shown up and that they weren't just pretending to care about him. People occupied much more space than a stack of photos. 

Alex and Jessica walked through the door. Tyler thought Alex looked tired and realized he hadn't seen him since just after the assembly a couple of days ago. So much had happened since then. He felt relieved, although only partially. Part of his uneasiness was related to the uncertainty surrounding Alex's situation. Tyler made eye contact with Alex, and the other boy returned a polite nod in his direction. Jessica smiled and gave a small wave. He wanted to talk to Alex, even though he did not know what he would say to him. He wanted to be there for him like Alex had been there for him. But it would have to wait until later. 

Tyler gave Justin the signal that he was ready to start. He listened as Justin told the story of how the exhibition came to be, but was lost in his own thoughts. It felt weird to be celebrating when they didn't know what would happen to Alex. But the more rational side of his brain said they should just focus on the time that they have together as friends. 

The sound of Justin finishing his introduction interrupted his thoughts.

"So here's Tyler!"

He hated public speaking, and while he enjoyed having friends, even a crowd of his friends was enough to cause his social anxiety to flare. He took a deep breath and began, hoping he wouldn't lose the ability to speak.

"Uh... Hi, um... So, there's a picture of everyone that's helped me this year. And I wanted to say thank you. Uh... Having friends is an amazing thing. Yeah."

They pulled the curtain to reveal the photos, and there was a collective gasp from the people in the room followed by applause. It felt great. 

Tyler turned to Justin. 

"Thanks for... introducing this. I... uh... really appreciate it." 

"Hey man, no problem! You know you are like, really talented, right?" Justin complimented him.

Tyler looked down and could feel his face get hot. Compliments always made him feel so uncomfortable. 

"Thanks," he said, avoiding making eye contact with Justin.

"I wanted to ask — you wouldn't be able to get me that picture of Jess? I might be going away — to rehab — and it would be nice to have her picture."

He nodded.

"Uh, yeah. I can do that."

Tyler moved through the crowd, watching as they enjoyed his photos. He couldn't get over how much things had changed. Tyler came upon Zach, who was appreciating the picture of him. He looked puzzled, like he couldn't figure out why his picture was on the wall. Zach hadn't always been Tyler's friend. Tyler remembered when both Zach and Jessica blocked him from attending Alex's birthday party, not realizing that Alex had invited him. He recalled the time Zach threatened to kill him, but it was a misunderstanding. For Tyler, worse than anything Zach did to him, was what he didn’t do, saying nothing when his friends bullied him.

"Why do you have me up there?"

"I can take it down, if you want?"

"No, no, it's a... great photo. It actually makes me seem good-looking, so…” 

Zach’s voice was sincere. It surprised Tyler because the other boy always seemed so confident to him.

"Holy shit, dude. You know you're good-looking, right?"

Zach seemed uncomfortable with the compliment and dismissed it. 

"Whatever. Uh… Listen, I just, I wanted to say… I am so sorry about what happened to you. And I'm sorry that I didn't know about it. I don't know what would have been different, but... I would like to think that if I'd known, I would've had the guts to... to do something to make your life not hell. And the amount that I contributed to that, to your life being hell, over the years, I am so... so sorry."

The apology was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Tyler had already forgiven Zach for how he had treated him in the past. He knew that was the only way to move forward.

"Yeah. No, it's cool."

"Thank you."

"Yeah. Hey Zach... What do you think is going to happen? With Alex?"

Zach shook his head, letting out a long weary breath.

"I don't know."

Tyler nodded, not sure why he asked when he knew that was probably the answer.

"But Tyler—whatever it is—we'll get through it together."

Charlie came up to them. Since the assembly, his expression seemed forever frozen in a look of concern.

"Hey..." he said, looking back and forth between Zach and Tyler. "So I just spoke with Ani — I guess Monty didn't die like Pozzi said."

Tyler didn't know what to say to that. As hurt and traumatized as he was by what Monty had done to him, he had still felt sad when he found out he was dead. Tyler knew it hadn't been his fault that Monty had died, but couldn't help but feel like it was because of him, because he reported Monty and couldn't help but think if he hadn't, he'd still be alive. And now that he was still alive, Tyler felt a bit of a weight lifted. He had wanted Monty to acknowledge what he did, apologize and perhaps even suffer consequences for his actions. 

Tyler had not wanted Monty dead.

He looked around the room to find Alex, but when he couldn’t see him, he turned to Charlie.

"Charlie, have you seen Alex?"

"I think I saw him step outside, a moment ago." 

"Thanks."

Tyler made his way outside Monet's and couldn't see anybody. He walked around to the side of the building, where he found Alex appearing to try to regain some sort of composure by steadying himself against the brick wall. He looked like he was trying to slow his breathing in an attempt to calm himself down. Alex must have heard Tyler approach because he turned to look at him as he rounded the corner.

"I'm sorry I left, I just felt like I... I couldn't breathe in there." Alex wasn't crying, but there was a pain in his eyes, like he was shattering into millions of pieces.

Tyler felt helpless. Nothing he could think to say would make any of this any better. So he said the only thing he could think of, the only thing that had made any difference in his life when all hope had been lost. 

"You... you know I'll always be here for you. Whatever you need. Just like you've always been there for me."

Alex said nothing, but nodded, expression still distressed. 

Tyler hoped they could help him through this. Having friends was amazing, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing Alex again, and he didn't think there was anything he could do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [de_la_cruz87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_la_cruz87/works) for the beta reading, the chats and keeping me motivated to write. 
> 
> Thanks to u/Great2411 on Reddit for all the help with characterization and pointing out what Zach did to Tyler. I'd forgotten. 
> 
> I've started a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0OVwWn1OKURMDrJKx5uRRY?si=35a38a3fb79d4652) for this story if anyone is interested. Totally optional and not required to enjoy the story but are definitely part of my creative process for writing so I thought I would share. No new songs for this chapter. 
> 
> Chapter 5- Sour Patch Kids is up next week and is from Alex and Carolyn's POV's. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting 💜


	5. Sour Patch Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets by with a little help from his friends and family.

Alex’s guilt had morphed into dread.

Nothing was worse than waiting for the inevitable.

It helped that he had his friends taking shifts to distract him.

Charlie and Tyler took the day after Thanksgiving. They hung out at Alex’s house, and Charlie insisted they make a batch of his granola camp cookies. Since they were missing a bunch of the ingredients, Charlie drove them to the local Walplex to pick out the missing ingredients. After they baked a couple dozen cookies, they watched a movie. Charlie suggested they watch _The Room_ ,which was apparently the worst movie ever made, claiming that laughter was the best medicine. Alex rolled his eyes, but he didn’t have the energy to fight him on it. And if he was honest, the movie Charlie picked was so bad it was funny. 

“You doubted me, didn’t you?” Charlie asked.

“I did. I never knew that watching something so bad could be so entertaining.”

“It totally depends on who you watch it with. It was definitely funnier with you compared to watching it with my dad, who was mostly confused by it. Next time, we can watch _The Disaster Artist_ , the James Franco movie about making _The Room_.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. 

“Next time?” he asked, wondering exactly when next time would be. He felt like he was on borrowed time already.

Charlie flashed him a wide smile, cheeks dimpling. It was hard to be unhappy around Charlie, and Alex didn’t know if he found that annoying or comforting.

Tyler grasped his stomach and scrunched his eyes closed.

“I think I ate too many cookies,” he moaned.

“Probably time I take us home anyhow,” Charlie said, looking at Alex. “You good?”

Alex hadn’t spent a night alone since he confessed to Zach and his Dad. Jessica had stayed over Thanksgiving night in the guest room, but he didn’t want to impose on either of them. Alex really didn’t know Charlie very well other than that he was on the football team and until recently had been hanging out with Monty. But Alex knew better than to judge someone by their friends. He hadn’t always kept the best company either. And if Tyler didn’t feel very well, he’d probably want to go home.

“Uh yeah, I’m good.”

He wasn’t, but he knew he couldn’t rely on his friends forever.

“Remember—y-you need anything, just let us know,” Tyler said.

“I will.”

Nighttime was the worst for his darker thoughts. The ones where he fantasized about not living anymore. He didn’t think he actually wanted to die, not now, but in the dark of night, the thoughts wormed their way in, poisoning his mind and robbing him of the ability to sleep.

That first night alone, he passed out from exhaustion around three in the morning and woke up around seven after four solid hours.

It was nowhere near enough.

He had multiple coffees with Jessica on the Saturday at Monet’s, but hanging out with Jess was hard. It was almost as though she was too close to it all, having been there when it happened. Not to mention, she was distracted because Justin was headed to treatment on Monday. They were trying to spend as much time as they could together before he left. Alex understood, as if it had been him, he’d want to do the same. He figured once everything was more resolved, things would be better between them.

At least that is what he hoped.

Peter hung out with him that evening, although Alex felt weird about it. He couldn’t help but feel that he was just taking pity on him. They sat across from each other at the kitchen table and played cribbage, a game they hadn’t played against each other since they were kids. Alex was much better at it than Peter.

The first game was close, as it had been awhile since either of them had played, but Alex squeaked out the win.

Peter smirked and grabbed the cards as it was his turn to deal.

“You just got lucky. Again?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

Alex leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed as he grew more comfortable spending time with his brother. It was nice, and he almost forgot about his troubles for a moment.

“Again.”

Alex beat his brother on the second round and raised his arms up in celebration after he pegged his way to his second victory.

“I win. Again.” Alex smiled smugly. Winning against his brother never got old.

“Oh, and you’re _so_ modest about it.”

“What can I say? I’ve got natural talent. I’m a regular cribbage superstar. When was the last time you won against me? Like when I was 8?”

Peter rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny it.

“Again?” Peter asked

Alex responded by shuffling the deck of cards with a flourish.

So they played again, and Alex won, again.

“OK, I think I’m done. At least you didn’t skunk me this time.”

“Oh, but I came close,” Alex boasted.

They sat in silence, each of them staring down at their respective pegs in the board. Peter was the first to look up and speak, his expression soft and caring.

“You know — what you did — it doesn’t change how I see you or feel about you. You are still my baby brother and I’ll always love you.”

What was Alex to say to that? He wiped his sweaty palms on his lap as he considered Peter’s words, and wondered if they were sincere, if his brother was just saying this to make him feel better, or was it because he felt sorry for him? He made eye contact with Peter, but couldn’t bear to hold it, looking away as his face burned hot with shame.

“I — I should go to bed,” he said, leaving Peter without looking back.

That second night alone was actually worse, despite being dead tired, because he wasn’t sure if he slept at all, drifting in and out of a sort of not sleep.

He was exhausted.

Peter left for college in the morning. It was still awkward between them, but that was to be expected. Alex’s brain had analyzed what Peter had said to him over and over during his sleepless night and had concluded that, regardless of his brother’s sincerity, it was his insecurities that were mostly at play. He’d always felt lesser than his brother and killing Bryce had done nothing to improve that. But that was on him, not Peter.

Zach finally escaped his mother’s grasp on Sunday. He brought Alex’s favourite junk food: Cool Ranch Doritos and a jumbo bag Sour Patch Kids and his picks: a box of Mike and Ikes, a box of Hot Tamales and a large bottle of Diet Coke to share. They played video games together all afternoon. Zach stayed for dinner with him and his Dad, and watched some Netflix afterwards. Whatever they’d been watching on Netflix was over and the trailers for recommended shows were playing.

Zach looked at his phone and frowned.

“Unfortunately, my mom wants me home so I can’t—stay. She says she never sees me anymore, but I’m not sure how going home to sleep helps with this.”

Alex shrugged and gave a slight smile.

“Thanks for coming over. It,”—Alex exhaled a weary breath—"helps. Hopefully, I'll sleep tonight."

Alex walked Zach to the door and watched his friend leave. He drug his body up the stairs and collapsed onto his bed, hoping sleep would come quickly. 

It didn’t. 

***

A jumbo bag of Sour Patch Kids sat open on the coffee table in the downstairs family room. 

Carolyn shook her head. They had to be Alex’s, and normally his choice in high fructose corn syrup-laden confectionaries was enough to trigger her inner mother bear, wanting to protect him from the vague dangers of eating too much sugar. But what had likely been an overprotective exercise that made her feel better in the past, felt especially pointless because it had become clear over the last few days that trying to protect their teenage son from the world was futile. She was so emotionally exhausted from the past week that she didn’t even have the energy to react to it. 

Both her and Bill’s parenting styles had shifted in slightly opposite directions following Alex’s suicide attempt. Bill had become less strict and more relaxed with Alex, and in some ways she had become more strict, especially in areas she felt she had some control, like the food she fed him. She hadn’t always agreed with Bill on how to parent their sons. He had always called her soft and too lenient, especially with Alex. But Alex was more sensitive than Peter. She always wanted to let Alex be his own person and disagreed with what she saw as encouraging Alex to be more like Peter, or pushing him to be aggressive, or telling him to stop crying because men don’t cry. 

When Alex made his first attempt, it hadn’t felt good to be right. To hold her husband in her arms while he sobbed about he had failed their son. Bill had come a long way, but Carolyn couldn’t help but wonder if they had been too lenient with Alex since his attempt. Maybe she should have asked more questions about why Alex needed so much money suddenly? Asked more questions about where he was going, who he was spending his time with. She hadn’t known Alex was friendly with Bryce, even though it had since become clear that Bill had. She wanted to think she wouldn’t have let him keep the company of a convicted rapist, but it was hard to say. But trying to figure out where they had gone wrong never helped in the past.

Peter had stayed up chatting with her until three in the morning on Thanksgiving night. She was happy he had come down for Thanksgiving - she felt like Peter had avoided visiting because it wasn’t always easy. It had been good to have someone to talk to that was outside the situation. Staying up that late had done nothing to help with how exhausted she felt, but she felt better about the situation. Not that her youngest son had killed a person and was looking at jail time. But spending time with Peter reminded her he was grown up and could now have adult conversations and provide her support in ways that he couldn’t when he was younger. She was proud of him. Despite all the turmoil their family had gone through while he had been in college, he was in the last year of his political science degree, had done well on his LSAT and was applying to various law schools around the country. At the same time, she felt bad for Alex, who had constantly lived in his brother’s shadow and now had new challenges to face. 

She walked over to the table, picked up the bag of candy and settled into the cushions of the couch. The smooth plastic of the package crinkled loudly as she held it. She took solace because it seemed like over half the bag remained. Carolyn opened the bag and the bright scent of cherry, orange, lemon, lime and blue raspberry, combined with a light acidic burning overwhelmed her nostrils. The scent caused her mouth to water involuntarily, and she figured she’d see what her son saw in these stupid candies once and for all. She chose a red one, because she typically enjoyed red candies, popped it in her mouth, and could definitely see where the sour came from. The flavour morphed into sweet after a few moments and a strong artificial cherry taste. It was pretty good and reminded her of candy from her youth, Mars Men. She selected one of each colour and tasted each of them separately to decide on a favourite. It was red. She continued to snack more mindlessly on them and was feeling the slight burn on the roof of her mouth when she heard a voice come from behind her. 

“You know those things will kill you, right?” Alex said, deadpan, walking into the family room to sit beside her on the couch. 

Carolyn smiled, knowing that he had caught her red-handed. It was hypocritical of her to be eating his candy, considering how much trouble she’d given Alex about his love for this candy in the past. 

“I thought the only thing they’d do is burn the roof of my mouth?” She teased, adopting his well-worn argument for her own use.

Alex smiled wearily and looked back at her, eyes ringed with heavy dark circles that matched hers. He then reached his hand in the bag she held and grabbed a handful of candy, popping a few in his mouth. 

It was late, well past midnight. She wondered what Alex was doing awake, especially given how tired he seemed. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, hoping he’d open up a bit about how he was feeling.

“Yeah, for days now.”

She wasn’t surprised he couldn’t sleep; he had never been a great sleeper, even through childhood. Combine that with the guilt he was feeling over what he did, it was perfectly understandable. But there was also the fact that he had been using steroids, and she was pretty sure he wasn’t anymore. 

“When was the last time you used steroids?”

Alex gave an exasperated sigh, shifting his body on the couch, his face flushing pink as if he felt bad enough that she now knew about the fact he’d been using steroids for months and didn’t really want to talk about it with her. 

“I don’t know, like two weeks ago this Friday?”

“And you were using testosterone cypionate?”

“Yeah, and I’m done with steroids. It was stupid, Mom, so I don’t need a lecture on—”

“I’m not going to lecture you. It’s just that — given the time frame, you’d be set to go through withdrawal from the steroids right about now. Withdrawal symptoms probably aren’t that different from feeling depressed. Actually, depression is one symptom, along with headaches, anxiety, trouble concentrating, insomnia and—”

“So what you’re saying is I really fucked myself up?”

He wasn’t wrong, but it wouldn’t be helpful to agree with him.

“What I’m saying is you might feel shitty for a while until your body starts producing its own testosterone again. On top of, well—”

“Crippling guilt?” Alex asked dryly, popping a few more Sour Patch Kids in his mouth. She could tell he was trying to make light of the really terrible situation he found himself in. 

She sighed and continued speaking.

“In some ways, you probably won’t be able to tell the difference, unfortunately.”

Alex looked down, resigned to his current fate. She could only imagine that he blamed himself more than anything else, as her son had the tendency to take on more responsibility than was his. Only in this situation, a lot of this _was_ his fault, which she could only imagine Alex using as proof that he didn’t deserve to live, at least if past events were to tell her anything about what her son might be thinking right now. She was worried about him. They sat quietly eating Sour Patch Kids for a few moments, surrounded by relative silence aside from their breathing and the crinkle of the candy package. 

Alex spoke again first. 

“Mom, I was — uh, wondering — would I be able to book an appointment with Dr. Ellman? I think I need to talk to someone outside of all of this.”

She felt her gut twist, but she felt relieved that he was reaching out. 

“Of course. We can call tomorrow to get you an appointment. Do you think you need to go back on your anti-depressants?” He looked at her, conflicted. She knew he preferred to be off them. He had convinced them he was doing well enough at the beginning of the summer to stop them. “There is no shame in needing them, Alex. Also, and maybe it is too soon to think like this, but I know it is easier to get access to medications if you are already on them before—”

She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence, but she knew from a brief student nursing rotation she did in a state prison that it was much harder for an inmate to get on a drug, even if they needed it, if they weren’t already on it. Inmates were often trying to work the system to access whatever drugs they could convince the doctor they needed — anything to take the pain away. 

“No, I probably should go back on them,” Alex said, reluctantly.

She nodded her agreement, taking a few more Sour Patch Kids and popping them into her mouth. She flinched as the sour sugar felt like knives cutting into the roof of her mouth.

Alex must have seen her pained expression and smiled knowingly.

“So—I’m curious, is the roof of your mouth sore?” 

“Definitely feeling raw,” she admitted, smiling back at him.

Alex nodded and seemed satisfied. 

“Well, I’m glad you survived your first encounter with my death candy,” he smirked at her, and the mood lifted from the heaviness of their conversation just moments before.

“I’m sure you were really worried,” she replied sarcastically. 

Alex shrugged and stuffed another handful of candies in his mouth. 

“Mostly worried you were going to eat all my candy.”

Carolyn laughed, appreciating the small moment of lightness between her and her son. A moment that gave her hope that somehow they’d get through this. 

“Since neither of us can sleep, you want to watch a movie?”

“Sure,” Alex agreed. “Pick whatever you want, Mom.”

She put on a classic romantic comedy, _How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days,_ and when Alex groaned she reminded him he told her she could pick whatever she wanted. They both grabbed pillows and blankets, each taking an end of the couch. Within the first half-hour, Alex had passed out and was sleeping so deeply he was snoring. Her plan of picking a movie he likely would not find interesting enough to stay awake through had worked. She ended up watching the whole movie and extracted herself from the couch, knowing she could not sleep there, but hoped Alex would keep sleeping after she left. 

She looked upon him with a sort of fondness, happy to see him finally get some rest, mixed with a sense of dread about his future. 

She turned the light out and took the empty package of Sour Patch Kids upstairs to the garbage, hoping for the best, but, given their luck as a family, with a realistic expectation of the worst. 

***

When Alex woke up in the family room on Monday morning, he felt stiff from sleeping on the couch, but more rested than he had in a while. His dad told him that today was the day the Sheriff's office was planning on filing the paperwork to press charges against him. It was overcast; the clouds blocked the sun, muting all the colours and lending a melancholy quality to the day. He made his way to the kitchen where his mom had left him a note.

_Dear Alex,_

_I’m being punished for eating your vile death candies. My mouth hurts and I’m not sure I’ll be able to taste anything for a few days. I made some jars of your favourite flavour of overnight oatmeal, blueberry. They are in the fridge. Please accept this offering and if you have any more candy stashed away, at least start your day with a healthy breakfast. I’ll be home for dinner._

_Love, Mom_

He smiled at the note, chuckling to himself that she was experiencing the only negative side effect, in his expert opinion, of eating Sour Patch Kids.

Alex had been planning to go to school when the doorbell rang. He answered the door even though he was still wearing the clothes he slept in, a pair of grey sweatpants and a grey shirt, and he was sporting major bedhead, hair sticking out in all directions.

It was Deputy Gerges, who Alex recognized from attending various family barbeques and the annual Evergreen County Sheriff's Department family Christmas party. 

“Oh hi, Alex,” he started awkwardly. “Um, I’m here to give you this, uh, citation. I’m supposed to read it,”—Deputy Gerges paused, and it seemed to Alex like he’d forgotten how to do his job now that he faced his colleague’s son, “I’ll just summarize it, basically it says you are being charged with one count of second-degree murder for the murder of Bryce Walker. If you don’t show up, you’ll be in contempt of court. But you’re going to show up, which is why we aren’t arresting you.”

Deputy Gerges was rambling. How many times had he issued a citation before this and it was coming out like it was his first time.

“Uh, thank you?” Alex replied, because what the fuck was he supposed to say to that? Plus, his father had drilled in years of respect for law enforcement. 

“And we might call you in for questioning before your arraignment. I was supposed to see if you wanted a ride, but you don’t look like you are ready.”

“It’s eight in the morning, I, uh, just woke up,” Alex replied. It would have almost been less awkward to be arrested. 

“Right. Well, I guess, I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, OK, “Alex said, as he slowly shut the door and figured he wouldn’t be going to school.

***

Alex’s dad drove him into the Sheriff's Department later that morning. 

Questioning was slow and boring, his lawyer—Dennis Vasquez, often telling him not to answer a question or asking Sheriff Diaz to rephrase a question so it wasn’t leading. Alex wondered how many more times he would have to go over the events of that night. It was getting easier to talk about every time he had to do it. At least he hadn’t broken down into tears this time. 

They called Jessica in for questioning later that day and Dennis stayed with her as well, making sure that they didn’t ask her anything they shouldn’t. Sheriff Diaz told her she was free to go, and it wasn’t clear whether they would charge her with accessory after the fact.

But probably the most surprising thing that happened that day is they also issued Zach a citation to appear in court on the same day as Alex. Contrary to what he’d been told by Sheriff Diaz earlier, he was being charged with assault causing great bodily harm. Alex found out via text message. Zach was taking it pretty well, all things considered, but Alex was angry. He felt like they had misled Zach into thinking he was safe. 

As they ate the burgers his father had prepared them for dinner, Alex’s anger bubbled out. 

“But why would you tell Zach he wasn’t getting charged and then turn around and charge him? It isn’t fair.”

“I know. But, buddy, sometimes we have to press charges even when we don’t want to,” his father tried to explain to him.

“Then why lie to him?”

“Buddy, it’s complicated,” his dad’s voice was soft, and that almost annoyed Alex more. What was so complicated about telling the truth?

Alex shook his head, pushed his chair back and stood up quickly, almost knocking his utensils off the table as he stormed off to his room. Once there, he realized that he probably overreacted. It was probably the feeling of having so little control over anything that the news of Zach also being charged was almost too much to bear.

***

Jessica received her citation the next day. She was to appear in court on the same day as Zach and Alex, charged with accessory after the fact. Alex’s lawyer met with all three of them to reassure them. Alex’s dad, Zach’s mom, and Jessica’s dad also attended the meeting.

“But why would they press charges against Zach when they said they wouldn’t?” Alex asked again, still upset at the apparent injustice. 

“Charging all three of you gives the District Attorney bargaining power,” Dennis explained. He looked over at Alex. “Have you thought about what you want to do? You can plead not guilty and take the case to trial. They don’t have a lot of evidence to prove the charge, but there is the risk they find you guilty of a lesser charge, and we’d have no control over your sentence. And often when you go through a whole trial, the judge will give the maximum sentence for wasting the court’s time. Or you can not enter a plea and we can plea bargain for a lighter sentence for the lesser charge: voluntary manslaughter.”

Alex felt everybody’s eyes on him.

Dennis continued to speak, listing the pros and cons of each, but Alex wasn’t really listening anymore. He already knew he didn’t want to go through a trial. He was guilty and the risk of going to trial and ending up with a worse outcome, a longer sentence than he’d get if he plea bargained, didn’t seem worth it to him.

Dennis’s voice brought him back. 

“So, Alex, what do you think?”

Jessica eyed him with a pleading look; she wanted him to fight. Zach gave him a soft caring smile and Alex knew he would support him no matter what he chose. His father looked tense, Mrs. Dempsey kept looking at her watch, impatient for the meeting to end and Mr. Davis’s expression was impossible to read. 

The air seemed heavy, and Alex could feel his chest tighten, not unlike the first time he’d confessed what he’d done. He let out a long breath to steady himself and looked around the room at everyone.

“I think I want to plea bargain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [de_la_cruz87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_la_cruz87/works) for the beta reading, the chats and keeping me motivated to write. 
> 
> Thanks to u/Great2411 on Reddit for all the help with characterization.
> 
> I've started a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0OVwWn1OKURMDrJKx5uRRY?si=35a38a3fb79d4652) for this story if anyone is interested. Totally optional and not required to enjoy the story but are definitely part of my creative process for writing so I thought I would share. The song for this chapter is [Unsteady](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V0lw3qylVfY) by the X Ambassadors. 
> 
> Chapter 6- Plea Bargaining is up next week and is from Nora Walker, Alex and Monty's POV's. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting 💙
> 
> I've had a [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/closetfascination) for a bit, you can follow me/message me on here if you like.


	6. Plea Bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plea Bargaining from Nora, Alex and Monty's POVs.

Nora Walker couldn't understand why the police department was keeping so quiet on the latest suspect in her son's murder investigation. They had publicly arrested Clay Jensen, only to release him the next day without charging him. She understood it had to be embarrassing for them, charging the wrong suspect, but didn’t the citizens of Evergreen have the right to know who might be responsible for her son's death? She wasn't entirely sure the police had it right either, given the threats to kill Bryce the Jensen boy had uttered on many occasions. But the boy had come to the house and delivered a reasonably convincing apology. Apologies were nice, but they wouldn't bring Bryce back. 

As soon as she found out about the charges being dropped, she had called the Evergreen County Sheriff's Department and demanded to speak to Sheriff Diaz. He had placated her with vagaries about recent information and a new suspect, but said that nothing could be done until Monday, as if the law took a break just because it was Thanksgiving. He told her he would be more than happy to meet with her when he knew more. 

She'd called on Monday, but the receptionist with the raspy voice that betrayed her proclivity to smoking way too many cigarettes told her to call back on Tuesday.

It was Tuesday morning now, and the silence from the Sheriff's department was deafening. 

She poured herself a cup of black coffee, tucked a stray strand of honey-brown hair behind her ear and prepared to unleash her wrath at the poor receptionist, but thought better of it. It wasn't the receptionist's fault that the Evergreen County Sheriff's Department had finally figured out how to control information leaks. Or maybe they had more personal motivation in this case? She found it strange that they had released no names, and there was no coverage in the news. 

It was as if the case had evaporated, at least as far as the public was concerned.

Nora took a sip from her coffee and composed the number of the police department. The sad thing was, she'd even had the number memorised from before Bryce's death because of his sexual assault conviction. Even in her estimation, his punishment had been insulting to his poor victim: three months’ probation for raping a girl. And the implication that she was one of many was horrifying to her, but also not implausible.

The phone didn't ring for long before the gravelly voice of the receptionist sounded in her ear. 

"Evergreen Sheriff's Department, how may I direct your call, dear?"

Dear? Nora bristled, her pale skin flushing pink at being called _dear,_ but didn't let her irritation enter her voice. 

"I'd like to speak with Sheriff Diaz, please."

"Oh, is this Mrs. Walker? He was expecting this call; I’ll put you right through."

The phone only rang for a moment.

"Sheriff Diaz, speaking."

"Hi, it's Nora Walker."

"Mrs Walker — I was expecting your call. I suppose you want more information about the new suspects in your son's case?" Diaz said, his tone smarmy and too friendly, as if he was trying to make up because he'd been actively avoiding her. It grated on her more than being called _dear_. She almost regretted not going down to the detachment, because the Sheriff couldn’t see the icy glare of her blue eyes over the phone.

"Yes—" she started, before the Sheriff interrupted her.

"Well, the arraignment is tomorrow at 1 pm."

"And you still aren't releasing the names?"

"Not until they are formally charged."

"They?"

"I've already said too much. You have yourself a nice day, Mrs. Walker." 

"But—" 

"Goodbye, Mrs Walker," Sheriff Diaz said, tone pleasant but curt, hanging up before she could say anything else.

Dial tone.

Her jaw dropped. 

How dare he hang up on her?

If she hadn't called, she wouldn't have even known when the arraignment was. She was angry that she had to do all the legwork when it was her son who was dead. They should have been notifying her, not the other way around. 

She hated this feeling of powerlessness. 

It didn't help that she was also busy trying to plan a funeral for her father, who had been unwell for a while, and passed away over Thanksgiving. There was so much to do, and she didn't know how she felt about it. She was still reeling from Bryce's death, and while her father was a horrible, racist, abusive man — he was still her father, and that made it complicated. 

And she still had the studio to run, but her work there was her solace. Teaching classes required her to focus on the present and not worry about the past or what could have been. It stopped her from trying to figure out where she went wrong with Bryce or wonder whether he was truly on his way to changing. Part of her felt that he was changing; she wanted to believe it. Especially after holding him as he cried in her arms after becoming emotional doing yoga with her; he became her little boy again, and she thought she could see a glimmer of who he might be if he continued working on himself. 

She would never know. 

Someone robbed her of knowing by ending his life too soon.

In some ways, it made Bryce's death sadder to her. Her father was the man he was. He had had his chance at living and would not change. But Bryce's death was the loss of what could have been. 

Sometimes she found comfort in the thought that maybe it was better this way, especially if Bryce was just putting on the best show of his life to regain what he lost when his entire kingdom came crashing down. But that comfort was fleeting and barbed with guilt at considering such a thing about her own son. 

The rest of Tuesday was a busy blur between working and planning the funeral. Wednesday came quicker than she thought. She dressed in a classic black sheath dress and matching cardigan, and a string of white pearls passed down to her from her mother, and drove herself to the courthouse. As she walked in, she saw many familiar faces; many of the same people were present at Bryce's trial. She wasn't shocked. She had reason to believe it was someone close to Bryce that had killed him. 

At first, she found it curious that Deputy Standall was present, out of uniform and with his wife, no less. She couldn't see the boy, Alex, someone Bryce had over a few times during the summer, and she'd seen him drop by the house since then, but never stay long. A customer? She now knew Bryce had been selling steroids, so given how short the visits were, it wouldn't have surprised her. People were still milling about. She passed Jessica Davis and her family on her way in to sit down. Bryce's victim. That wasn't surprising, although she didn't think Jessica had it in her to kill her son. 

Once everyone was seated, Nora noticed Karen Dempsey sitting with her son on the opposite side of the courthouse. By the way Karen was staring straight ahead, Nora guessed she was avoiding her. When Court was called to order, she quickly realised why. 

Zach was the first to be called up, and the DA charged him with assault causing great bodily harm. He did not enter a plea. She knew they had found Bryce with many broken bones, so perhaps they figured Zach beat him? She knew Zach and Bryce were no longer friendly, but she didn't realise it was this bad. 

The next person called up was Jessica Davis. Interesting, so she was involved somehow. One count of accessory after the fact. She didn't enter a plea either.

Lastly, they called Alex Standall up. It surprised Nora. Alex had always been either friendly to Bryce or absent. He was hard to read, so it was difficult to tell sometimes if he loathed Bryce or if that was just his general feeling towards the world. Charged with second-degree murder, and he also entered no plea. 

Dennis Vasquez seemed to be representing all three of them; Nora hoped for their sake he did a better job than he did with the Bakers or Jessica Davis' case.

And the complete silence over who was involved made sense to her now. 

Jessica was a minor, Alex's dad was a Deputy who, until recently, had been actively involved with the case, and Zach was his best friend. 

She left quietly, wanting to avoid any unnecessary conversations. 

She noticed a distinct lack of media as she exited the courthouse. Typically, in cases like this, the scrum outside was like a rabid pack of hungry dogs, just waiting for the vulnerable and the weak, fighting to get even scraps of information. She wondered how the Sheriff's department was doing it, as freedom of the press was a democratic right. 

It didn't seem fair, but then again, when had anything in life ever been fair? 

The fact was, the police protected their own. And Nora couldn't fault the Standalls for using this in their favour. After all, she hadn't been above using her privileged place in society to protect her son. 

She put her sunglasses on and drove away from the courthouse. People were finally being held responsible for Bryce's death, and that should make her happy.

At least she figured some closure with this would make her feel better. 

She thought it would help her move on.

Instead, she still felt empty inside. 

***

"We have ten court days to negotiate a plea deal with the district attorney," Dennis explained to them when they met in his office after the arraignment. "In the state of California, any plea bargaining must be done before they present the information at the preliminary hearing. I'll be meeting with the DA tomorrow to start negotiations."

Alex wasn't sure why, but ten days seemed too long and too short, and he imagined it likely involved lots of boring meetings. He knew he deserved this purgatory he currently found himself in, but somehow knowing he deserved it, didn’t ease the ever-present dread he felt twisting his guts into a tangled knot. 

Mr Davis was the first to speak up, his dark-brown eyes casting Dennis a serious look.

"And you're sure that Jessica will beat her charge?"

"Absolutely. It is common practice to charge the witness with accessory after the fact when there is a delay in reporting the crime. There is no duty to report, but because she didn't come forward right away, they want to make sure that she wasn't actively covering for Alex,"—Dennis paused, pushing his glasses up by the bridge, glancing at his notes—"And Jessica never spoke with the police before yesterday, so there is no record of her actively covering for him."

Mrs Dempsey was the next to speak up.

"And what about Zachary? Can you get them to drop the charges?"

Dennis let out a long breath and paused, as if considering the best way to phrase what he would say next.

"Zach's case isn't as simple. I know that Sheriff Diaz promised he wouldn't be charged, but it wasn't his place to promise that. It is the district attorney that decides whether they will press charges. And they have a confession from Zach on record. But, Zach came forward with the information and showed remorse, and that will look good for negotiating his charges down."

Mrs. Dempsey's eyes narrowed, and she scoffed.

"Let's go, Zachary. I will get you your own lawyer. If we stay here, you will come out of this with a criminal record." She grabbed her Coach purse from the floor and quickly rose from her chair, moving towards the door of the boardroom. 

Zach didn't move. He sat quietly, firmly in his chair _._

"Zachary Shan-Yung Dempsey, come. We are going." Mrs Dempsey's lips pressed into a thin line, and Alex swore he saw her stomp her foot _._

Zach let out a bitter laugh. 

"No. Weren't you listening? I confessed. It doesn't matter what lawyer you pay — it doesn't change that. It—It doesn't change what I did, Mom."

"I—I... Zachary," her voice trailed off, and she shook, and Alex was unsure if it was from anger or fear. Mrs Dempsey looked the closest Alex had ever seen her to crying. 

Zach got up, walked over to her and placed his hand on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze, while his mother just stood there stiffly. He let his hand drop and stood quietly in front of her. His voice was gentle when he finally spoke.

"Mom, why — why don't you sit down, and we can figure this out with Mr Vasquez?"

She moved slowly, stiff as a board, back to her chair, her face contorting into an indignant pout that might grace the face of a petulant child as she sat, resigned to stay.

Mr Vasquez shifted tensely in his chair and quickly changed the subject. 

"And Alex,"—the lawyer said, making eye contact with him—"our strategy with you is to stress that you were trying to help Bryce and that Bryce's past actions, including injuring Zach, his history of sexual assaults, combined with your TBI, caused you to interpret his future threats as very real. I understand you have an appointment with Dr. Ellman booked. He will refer to you to get some up-to-date brain scans done to see if there is anything there. I'm confident that because of the lack of evidence the DA has, they will make a deal to drop the charges down to voluntary manslaughter."

Alex nodded quietly, looking in Jessica's direction, trying to make eye contact with her. She refused to look at him, still mad that he would not fight the charges. He was used to Jessica not talking to him, but somehow it felt worse knowing they had little time left together. 

"... Questions?" Dennis finished, and Alex realized he'd missed almost everything he'd just said.

Luckily, his dad seemed to be paying attention.

"You'll let us know what they say after your meeting tomorrow? Do you want us to come?"

Dennis looked between Bill Standall and Alex, considering the question.

"If you want, but it might be easier without you ther _e."_

With the meeting finished, they left the office. Jessica quickly left first so she wouldn't have to talk to Alex. 

Zach and Alex walked out together. 

"Still not talking to you?" Zach asked, giving Alex a concerned look _._

"Yeah, but it has only been a day. She lost it on me yesterday, told me I was throwing my entire life away by not fighting." Alex shook his head. "She tried to say it was the same as if she hadn't pressed charges against Bryce. But I guess I don't see it like that. Nothing is going to change the fact that I pushed Bryce into that river, whether I come out of this with a record or not," he said, the words tumbling out bitterly. 

"Hey, you don't have to tell me twice." Zach gave a glance to make sure his mother wasn't in earshot. "I'm dealing with the same thing with my mom. You saw her in there."

"I'm glad _someone_ understands. I know she'll come around, because it's Jess — it just sucks because I really felt like things were getting better."

Zach's lips curved into a wistful half-smile. 

"Well, we can always wallow together or at least attempt to catch up on all the homework we have from all the days we've been missing. Clay said he'd meet us tonight to give us what we missed.” Zach paused before continuing, "Homework just seems — pointless, you know?"

"Totally fucking pointless," Alex agreed, rolling his eyes.

"Alex! Language," his mother's voice hissed from behind them as they all walked toward separate vehicles to leave.

He smiled at the reprimand, finding it mildly amusing that his mother was still trying to correct his language.

There was an odd comfort in the mundane, in the small things, and while the homework they worked on together at Clay’s outhouse felt pointless, it was also an excellent distraction. It seemed to help Clay as well; collecting their work gave him something helpful to do. 

"Now, just let me know if you need me to do this again tomorrow," Clay said, expression serious but caring. "I really don't mind."

"I think I'm going to school tomorrow?" Alex said, but it sounded more like a question than an observation. "I don't fucking know anymore. Every day I've planned to go this week, I end up at another appointment."

Zach shrugged.

"I don't see any reason I won't be, but I'll keep you posted."

Alex didn't end up going to school the next day as he had his appointment with Dr. Ellman on Thursday and his brain scan on Friday. He spent the weekend doing mountains of homework with Zach and ended up attending school on Monday.

People eyed him strangely, although only because he hadn't been to school for a week. The Sheriff's department had kept things so locked down that no one knew what was going on. Alex swore he heard more gossip being circulated about Justin going to rehab. The craziest version of that rumour was that he and Zach had gone too, and that's why they hadn’t been at school for a week. Zach had mostly squashed that rumour on Friday, but some people still passed it along on Monday.

When he got home from school, his dad was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. His dad put the paper down and smiled at him. 

"I've got good news. Or at least as good as can be expected."

Alex raised his eyebrows.

"Oh?"

"Dennis called, and the DA came back with their first deal, and it is pretty good. It seems like they want this dealt with quickly."

"What did they offer?"

"Zach's charges will be dropped to simple assault, which has much lighter penalties, up to six months in jail or a fine, but they are going to suggest six months’ probation, anger management and counselling since it is Zach's first offence. Ultimately, it is up to the judge, but given that Zach came forward and is remorseful, it looks good for him," his dad said, taking a sip from his glass of water.

"What about Jessica?"

"They will drop her charges, saying it is clear she didn't cover for you."

"And — and me?"

His father let out a breath, looking at him softly with relief.

"They will drop your charge down to voluntary manslaughter, suggesting three years in prison, counselling and anger management."

"But there is no guarantee?"

"Well, typically with plea deals, the judge goes along with the suggestions, but you won't find out until your sentencing, which has to happen within 30 days of your preliminary hearing."

More waiting, more existential angst.

"And the preliminary hearing is next Wednesday?" Alex asked, his expression pained.

"Yeah. But buddy, that is a good thing — it means you'll be with us for Christmas," his father flashed him an excited smile. 

Alex managed a weak smile in return, grateful for knowing even slightly more than he did before. Hopefully, Christmas wouldn’t be as awkward as Thanksgiving had been. 

Hopefully. 

***

Five days ago, when Monty had squinted open his almost swollen-shut eyes, blinded by the harsh fluorescent hospital lights, he'd hoped it was a bad dream or that in-between place people visit when they are dead, waiting to pass on to heaven, hell, or whatever was in-between.

It had been neither. 

He had been very much awake and alive. 

He was used to being uncomfortable; pain was, unfortunately, a familiar feeling to him. But the feeling of being trapped, shackled to the hospital bed, unable to leave, even if he wanted to, was almost worse than any abuse his father put him through. 

A bandage covered Monty’s ears. The pretty blond correctional officer sitting at his bedside, an assumption Monty made through squinted eyes, had informed him they'd had to reattach one of his ears, which had explained the throbbing on the right side of his head. Of all the injuries Monty had sustained in the past, that was a new one. 

He had chuckled to himself bitterly, which had caused the officer to raise his eyebrows for a moment before returning to whatever he had been watching on his phone to pass the time. Well, fuck him; who was he to fucking judge him? Anger had bubbled just beneath his skin, and his fists had balled almost involuntarily. If his arms hadn't been cuffed to the gurney, he might have — but where had that ever gotten him?

Maybe if his father hadn't said his charges loud enough for that rat Pozzi to hear, Monty would still be in the county lockup, instead of healing from the worst beating of his life. It was almost as if his father had done it on purpose, knowing exactly what would happen if people found out why Monty was there. He had told the cops he didn't want his father contacted, but the fucking pigs hadn't listened. He was an adult; they had no right to involve themselves in his business. He considered refusing to see his father, but fuck, at this point, even if he didn't want to see him, even if he hated his dad because he was a fucking asshole, who else did he have? 

Winston, a rich kid he barely knew, had wanted to be there for him, but he pushed him away before he could leave him, too. Before he found out about the things he'd done, who Monty really was. He didn't see how they could have any future, so why get attached? Fuck, Winston had to be almost as fucked up as he was if he didn't see that he shouldn't waste his time on him.

As far as his friends on the football team, Luke and Diego had been the most loyal. But he was sure they’d abandon him too once they found out what he did.

And he didn't want Estela to see him like this. It upset her enough when their dad beat the shit out of him. He guessed they would both be on their own now. He hoped she'd be OK. His dad didn't fucking hate her like he did Monty, probably because she wasn't a fucking fag like him.

Even though Monty had known his dad would never accept a son that was gay, any secret hope for acceptance from his father buried deep inside was extinguished the moment his father's saliva hit his face during their visit in the county lockup. 

The worst part was Monty had become everything he hated about his father. He knew what he did to Tyler was wrong, but admitting that it was wrong, apologizing out loud, was admitting he'd become the monster he'd always feared he would. It felt like all the things he'd done over the past year had finally caught up to him. 

The only thing that changed over the next few days, as he healed, was the officer keeping watch over him. Some of them tried to make conversation, but Monty had never liked small talk, and they quickly gave up. When he was well enough to move around, they simply shackled his hands and feet together so he couldn't get too far if he ran. But Monty wasn't going to run. Where the fuck would he go? He had nothing. No one.

The doctors told him he'd be able to leave the hospital tomorrow, which they informed him was a Tuesday; the same day the officer informed him that his arraignment had also been scheduled. Toward the end of the day, he had his first visit from the public defender. 

She was East-Indian, and her gentle smile reminded him of the nice guidance counsellor who seemed to think he had so much potential—ha, if only she could see him now. Her dark brown hair was long, straight, and her deeply bronzed skin radiated a sort of warmth that contrasted the cold, stark hospital room. A perfectly tailored navy blue pantsuit paired with stylish stiletto heels made her look far too rich to be taking cases like his.

"I'm Tara Anand; I’ve been assigned to your case."

Monty sighed, and if he could have crossed his shackled arms, he would have. _Assigned_ to his case as in _didn't have a choice._

"I've been over your file, and I'm going to be honest, it isn't looking good," Tara explained, her lips curving down into a concerned frown.

He steeled his jaw, stared back at _Tara,_ considering the lawyer’s words, and nodded, saying nothing. 

"The victim has pictures of all the injuries, and the two boys accused of helping you, Taylor and Kenneth, are already in negotiations with the District Attorney to testify against you in exchange for a deal. The best chance you've got at not getting ten years for this is to make your own deal."

"Deal? As in plead guilty?" His voice cracked, and came out higher pitched and softer than he would have liked. 

"Yeah, we can negotiate with the DA, maybe get you the minimum sentence." 

Monty stared vacantly past the lawyer, bruised and beaten, face frozen in the emotionless mask he was so accustomed to wearing. Inside, his gut turned in on itself, and his chest tightened. The lawyer's words seemed to echo through the sterile room, as if driving home how utterly alone he was, more so than he'd ever felt in his entire life.

He shrugged in passive agreement. 

He was all alone — what fucking choice did he have?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [de_la_cruz87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_la_cruz87/works) for the beta reading, the chats and keeping me motivated to write. 
> 
> Thanks to u/Great2411 on Reddit for all the help with characterization.
> 
> I've started a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0OVwWn1OKURMDrJKx5uRRY?si=35a38a3fb79d4652) for this story if anyone is interested. Totally optional and not required to enjoy the story but are definitely part of my creative process for writing so I thought I would share. The song for this chapter is [Sick Cycle Carousel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1F8I-27q6A) by the Lifehouse. 
> 
> Chapter 7- Freefall is up next week and is from Charlie, Clay, Charlie and a surprise POV's. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting 💜


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